


Child surprise

by Arzani



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff, Found Family, I make this up as I go, Implied Sexual Content, Jaskier's childhood, Jaskier's parents, M/M, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), Very Implied, because he so vehemently doesn't believe in it, cuteness, destiny mocks Geralt, it's basically not there (yet), playing with Jaskier's past and family, side geralt/eskel, very side-lined
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22616728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: Geralt didn't believe in the Law of Surprise. Destiny was a tale people believed in to give reason to this hellhole full of horseshit. He knew - he knew! - that destiny wouldn't explode just because he refused to claim a child that wasn't his. He was a witcher. He wasn't made to care for children. He didn't steal children.No. He knew the law of surprise was but a saying, a thing people wanted to believe in. After all, he had once declined a child surprise, had let a child grow up in their parent's arms, for them to be safe. Destiny hadn't reconnected them, as people always said it would. He had declined once ... he could do it again. Even when Jaskier was nagging him about the whole matter, and rather persistently so.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 193
Kudos: 635





	1. scents of danedlion and buttercup

**Author's Note:**

> I play with Jaskier's past because I think not much is revealed of it.  
> This will also mostly be based on the show, as I just started reading the books and show!Geraskier and book!Geraskier are such different relationships.  
> Also my native language is not English so if you find spelling mistakes, please do tell. Not betaed.

Lettenhove was a small town. Not quite a city but no village either, with a decent tavern, decent ale and a stable to tuck in Roach. His girl surely needed the rest before Geralt would seek out the Kikimora, tomorrow, just before dawn. The viscount had promised a hefty sum, as the beast was terrorizing the main street coming into town from the south. It cost a man to pay a witcher, it cost him more to lose the trade by giving up one main street. A circumstance that was good for Geralt. He lacked the coin and needed to make repairs on the saddle for Roach.

His eyes darted around the room, taking in the people drinking, eating and chatting. A bard played a song, her voice a soothing background noise, her harp not quite as demanding as for example a lute would be. Most people wore sturdy clothes, made to endure work on the fields and in workshops. But the making was good quality and it promised that the repairs on the saddle would be well done. Lettenhove may be small but it wasn’t poor. The viscount saw to that, making sure travelers had reason to come and go as they pleased, paying a witcher to keep open the streets. It was just for his benefit. People earning good money could easily pay tax.

A snort escaped his throat and he drank from his ale. The viscount had been nice enough, even offering to pay in advance. Not that Geralt had any intention to take the man up on the offer. He was a witcher and a witcher took his coin after the job was done.

The plate in front of him was already empty, and the ale was just another sip. Leaving the tankard, Geralt let his gaze wander around the taproom for one last time. Nothing seemed amiss. A scene almost too good to be true. No one eyeing him warily, no brawl, no shouts or insults. Just him and his ale, the promise of good coin and a soft harp playing in the background. Music made humans soft. Especially here in Redania, so close to Oxenfurt.

His stool scraped on the floor when he stood up. A silver coin swirled between his fingers and he tossed it to the bard, who nodded at him with a smile. Then he made his way up to the stairs, towards his rented room. Harp play followed him, into his dreams, and for once he didn’t wonder about anything at all. Music indeed made people soft.

* * *

His shoulder ached, blood dripped down his temple and matted his white hair. He was soaked, parts of his armor was torn and he would need to repair it but all in all it had been an easy kill. The lake was kikimora-free, his silver sword sated for now and the southern main road to Lettenhove safe to be traveled again. The sun shone high in the sky. It had taken him well into noon to slay the beast. Not that it was something out of the ordinary.

Leaning on Roach, who carried him back into town, he wiped a small trail of blood from his eyebrow. His brave girl trotted lazily on the flat ground, as if she knew Geralt wouldn’t take kindly to her jostling him too much. His mare did know him well.

Sun poured down through the branches of the trees. The leaves filtered the light and allowed shadow and light to play catch. It was peaceful and for a moment Geralt allowed himself to close his eyes and enjoy the light breeze on his skin. It didn’t last long, as all good things never did. His senses alarmed him of a presence coming closer, a smell in the air that was faintly familiar. What was it?

With his hand already on the handle of his sword - the steel one, because steel was for humans - another soft breeze brought the scent to him more clearly. Dandelions. Buttercups. The fine scent only nobleman could afford. His hand dropped. The tension in his shoulders eased.

It took another moment to bring him and the other closer. By now Geralt could make out the stature of the man. Tights pressed into the flanks of a chestnut stallion, his brown hair catching the sun rays through the branches of the forest. A smile on his lips that fell when he was close enough to make out blood on the witcher’s face. Was that worry in his eyes?

“Viscount,” Geralt spoke, “didn’t we agree to meet back in town?”

Their horses came to a stop next to each other, nuzzling into each other’s necks. Geralt let them, his focus on the man who eyed him warily, from head to toe. His eyes were drawn together, a line appeared on his forehead.

“You’re hurt,” the viscount - Alfred Simon Pankratz - Geralt remembered, said, ignoring the words. Worry was etched into the lilt of his voice. It irritated the witcher. Humans normally didn’t show as much concern.

“It’s just a scratch,” Geralt huffed and added, as an afterthought, “I’m fine.” Usually he didn’t elaborate as much, but the man in front of him seemed to need it. Again Alfred’s eyes wandered over his figure… his wounds, Geralt realized. They had the color of the sea, almost green. Surely people would call the man handsome, in his fine clothes, silk that matched, a doublet of the color of the sky and matching trousers. However noble they looked, Geralt knew they were made for riding. Comfortable even in their luxury.

“So you slayed the beast?”

Geralt gave a nod and bright eyes just turned a notch brighter, almost shining with relief. Alfred led his horse into the direction Geralt just came from and an almost inaudible sigh escaped the witcher. Of course. He gripped Roach’s reins and did the same.

“Show me, witcher,” was said to him as Geralt had expected. He had almost spurred Roach on, when he felt the gaze of the viscount on him again. While he had sounded excited and eager, his stallion still stood still as a stone. It made him turn his head. Irritation. This man surely knew how to irritate Geralt.

“If you need a healer first, we can…” Alfred said sheepishly. It made Geralt huff. Such a naive human, caring for a witcher. Who did that, anyway?

“I said I’m fine. Come viscount, the sooner you see the dead kikimora the sooner I get my coin and a bath.”

With those words Geralt pressed his heels into Roach’s flanks. His good hearing told him Alfred did the same. For a moment all that could be heard were the hooves on the ground, the singing of the birds and the quiet of a forest.

* * *

“So is it true that the silver is for monsters and the steel one is for humans?” Alfred asked, and Geralt held back a grunt. Had he known that the viscount was so … noisy, he would have told the man to stay put. It wasn’t the first time Geralt had transported a dead beast on Roach’s back, but had gladly accepted the offer for the viscount to see himself, after the deed was done. It was nasty business to drag a carcass through town, no matter the carcass and no matter the town. A dead kikimora at the bottom of a lake was a good kikimora.

“No,” Geralt answered after a moment of consideration. He hated the prejudices towards witchers, even though he had promised himself a long time ago to not care anymore. A part of him always would. He was weak.

“How is that?” the viscount enquired and Geralt rolled his eyes. Hummed. And answered.

“Steel can kill a monster, if a monster can be killed by beheading. And silver can definitely kill a man, if wielded the right way. It just is a fact that a lot of beasts are weakened by the silver metal… and a lot of men are afraid of a steel tip at their throats.”

Maybe Geralt had expected silence after that answer, or a gasp, or anything else that would be a normal reaction. Instead the viscount chuckled lightly and spurred his stallion on. Cheeky eyes glanced at him.

“You, my dear friend, are full of sass,” he said with a smirk. Before Geralt could reply that they were no friends, the shimmering blue of the lake came into view and robbed him of his answer. Shaking his head, he clicked with his tongue. “Come on, Roach.”

They reached the lake just fine and the viscount slided gracefully off his saddle. He tied his stallion at a nearby tree, that had a low branch hanging just about the height of Geralt’s waist. He followed suit and did the same with Roach. Without waiting for Geralt, Alfred trudged through the high grass, humming. The sun reflected on the turquoise water, clear and deep and so unusual for a kikimora, which preferred swamps. But Geralt didn’t question the hideout of monsters. Not anymore.

With his hand up, to block the sun blinding him, Geralt followed suit. The humming reached his ear, a soft tone. A song Geralt didn’t know. Not that he minded. It was pleasing. Nice. Alfred indeed had a melodic singing voice, that suited the ear. It stopped when the viscount reached the edge of the lake. An shocked “oh” followed it.

“What a sight. Is this what you daily face, dear witcher? You must have a -”

Geralt didn’t find out what he had. It was only when Alfred had stopped humming, that he realized it was quiet around them. Too quiet for a forest, which always carried noises. Of birds and rabbits and deer. But not now. Not here. He had been careless, because he had thought he had done his job with slaying the kikimora. How stupid of him to not pay attention. His swords sirred when he drew it.

“Step away,” he shouted and darted forward. Something shot out of the water, a spidery arm, twice the size of a man’s. Alfred let out a scream, fell on his bottom and scrambled backwards. Meanwhile Geralt stepped in front of him and blocked the attack. A screech could be heard, and a face only barely resembling a human’s form looked at him. Dark eyes, a skull deformed and bald. Teeth. A lot of them.

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed and jumped. Making a sign with his free hand, he blocked the spidery arms that came for him. With the other he wielded his sword. It cleanly sank into the throat of the beast, which screamed in pain, gurgled and fell. Water splashed when the impact threw him into the lake. Bubbles around his head stole his sight for a moment. Then he hit solid ground with his feet. With a swift push he freed his swords. Blood and guts dyed the water black and Geralt made a face. It definitely was dead.

He swam back towards the surface and took a deep breath when his head broke through. Looking around, he saw a pale viscount scanning the lake. Without his conscience a smile slipped on Geralt’s face. The stupid idiot was still here and looking for him.

“Stop your panicked searching, viscount. I told you I’m fine,” Geralt yelled and even from the distance his ears made out a relieved sigh. With ease he swam towards the man who held a hand out to help him out of the water. Color had turned back into his cheeks, but he was still a bit pale.

“What was that, Geralt?” he asked, when the witcher stood safely back on solid ground. Geralt sheathed his sword and shrugged. His gaze darted over the viscount’s body, but no injuries could be seen. Thank godness.

“A kikimora. A child. I have to apologize for not doing my job properly in the first place. I should have noticed I only killed the mother.” He should have, really. What witcher was he, for not noticing the beast had an offspring? Of course a mother would chose a clear lake instead of a swamp to give birth. The monster’s baby must have been not even a few months old.

A hand reached for his temple and Geralt was too surprised to stop Alfred from touching him. Mild pain zinged through him and the thump that came off Geralt’s skin was bloody. “Stop your brooding, Geralt. You saved my life and got hurt in the process. I owe you.”

Emerald eyes locked with his and made Geralt forget for just a moment that he, a witcher, stood in front of a nobleman. His heart beat, thump after thump. A friend?

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said and a breeze tousled his hair. Alfred’s hair. He was faced with a smile. Such a beautiful, honest smile.

“But I want to give you something. For saving my life, freeing my town from the beast and allowing my subjects to wander freely on the roads surrounding Lettenhove. Without this, another kikimora would have taken place over the old, and nothing would have changed.”

It must have been something in Alfred’s voice that made Geralt react in the way he did. He should have asked for a little more coin, even though he figured he didn’t deserve it for endangering the man in the first place. It was his job to protect the human kind from monsters and it was his job to lure all beasts out of their hiding spaces. What a fool he was. How weak.

He took Alfred’s hand and brushed the blood that stuck to his thump away. He had a newborn puppy in mind. Maybe a foal. The viscount had a big stable full with horses, Geralt had seen it the day before. It could be anything, really. A flower his wife brought in. A new shawl. Really anything. “Give me what you already have, but don’t know of.”

Alfred laughed, his eyes tingling with mirth. “Alright my friend. The law of surprise will be your payment.” Geralt’s medallion vibrated when another breeze carried a voice to their ears. Faint.

“Alfred? Alfred, dear? Are you here?”

Geralt knew this voice. It was of the Lady Pankratz, Alfred’s wife. A lovely thing, with soft features, a happy smile and the bluest eyes Geralt had ever seen. Her hair blew in the wind, as her horse - a small mare, white with dots - carried her towards them. She almost jumped from the saddle, when she saw her husband. A sheen was on her, an aura of pure bliss. She jumped into his hold, carefree laughter bubbling from her throat.

“I’m pregnant,” she exclaimed. The words needed to register in Geralt’s mind, but when they did it was all he could focus on. They repeated on and on. Again and again.

_ “I’m pregnant.” _

_ “Give me what you already have, but don’t know of.” _

He had just stolen Alfred Simon Pankratz - Viscount de Lettenhove’s and Julia Pankratz’s child. Fuck.


	2. the right path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt is taking the right path and has a bathtub conversation.

He could still hear them whisper, his enhanced senses a curse now rather than a blessing. He could smell their happiness, hear their voices being light and full of glee. He could see out of the corner of his eyes the way they hugged each other intimately, embracing, drawing close to one another, sharing a kiss so full of love it ripped Geralt’s heart apart. How could he destroy this?

He tuned it out as best as he could, while he took care of Lady Pankratz’s horse. She had not bothered to secure it, had just slid from the saddle and threw herself into her husband’s waiting embrace. Geralt was glad to be able to do something other than standing awkwardly besides the couple. He patted the mare’s neck, who huffed at him and let herself be led towards the other animals. Roach sniffed at the smaller horse, when Geralt bound her reins at the branch. She was a soft one, perfect to be ridden by a lady.

“I’m an idiot,” he mumbled into her neck, not daring to turn around. He wanted to give Alfred and Julia as much space as he could. As long as he could. He knew it wasn’t long. His hands stroke through her white fur. Felt the muscles underneath. She was well taken care of. A good horse. Owned by good owners. “I should have asked for more coin, not the law of surprise.”

He was huffed at by the horse and even Roach made a sound that almost sounded judgemental. Oh, well thanks. He didn’t need that. He knew himself.

He heard footsteps, two pairs, coming closer. One of them was a little heavier, the other light. The grass crunched under their boots.

“The law of surprise, really?” he heard the flowery voice of Julia ask. Geralt closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“Yes, dear. It’s okay. He’s a good man. I -”

Geralt didn’t let Alfred finish his sentence, but whirled around with a growl. He knew the look on his face must be scary, sharp and dangerous. But he was so angry with himself for not controlling his words. To claim the law of surprise as a witcher. How utterly stupid.

“I’m not good and I’m clearly no man,” he spat. His words dripped with venom and his eyes were seething. But instead of stepping back or being afraid, Alfred - this stupid human - laughed. He had the gall to laugh into Geralt’s face. Into the face of a witcher. It drained all anger from his body and left him confused.

“Back to being broody again? Stop the self-hatred, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Alfred said, with mirth in his eyes. He had his right arm slung around his wife’s waist, holding her tightly to his own body. The other hand moved while he spoke, as did his eyes. They seemed to dance.

“I stole your child,” Geralt bit out, clenching his fist, unable to do something else. He didn’t know how to handle the situation. No one at Kaer Morhen had ever explained to him how to handle a child surprise. If at all Vesemir would have told him to not claim the law of surprise at all. To only take coin. Geralt surely hadn’t listen closely enough.

“You sound like you want to rip them out of my belly and be off with it,” Julia said, with a slight smirk on her lips. She was feisty, that woman. It was embedded into her whole being. She wasn’t tall per se. Not as tall as Geralt, not even as tall as her husband, but not short either. Her hair flowed down her shoulders, a brown a shade darker than her husband’s, with slight waves to it. She wore a blouse and trousers, riding boots and a coat. All in a dark shade of green, except for the blouse that was fine white silk. As her husband’s clothing they were made to be comfortable even in their luxury. Her blue eyes danced with mirth.

“Of course not,” Geralt growled as an answer and Alfred, that fool, stepped closer and lay a hand on his shoulder. Soothing.

“Then I don’t see a problem at all.”

“I claimed the law of surprise,” Geralt grumbled, a weak response to all the thoughts that wirled in his head. How could they be so calm about it? They obviously had wanted to become parents very badly, recollecting their joy at hearing they would. This was no accidental pregnancy, it was a planned child. A child Geralt had stolen. He hated the thought. He, of all people on the whole fucking continent, was not cut out to be parent material.

“Yes, you did. And I granted you the wish,” Alfred answered, hand squeezing a little before he let go. “It means you and the child are bound together by destiny. Not that you have to raise it yourself, dear friend.”

The words stunned Geralt to silence. He wanted to answer, but all words left him. Julia giggled and stepped forward herself. She leaned up to him, one hand on his chest. It felt like the touch, even while still wearing his leather armor, burnt right through his skin and onto his heart. Geralt let her, could not deny her at all. Her breath ghosted over his ear when she spoke and he could smell her scent. Lavender and rosemary. It smelled like comfort. “I have to say, I’m rather glad to know my child will be protected by a fierce witcher. What better could there be?”

_Everything. Everyone!_

But seeing their combined smiles, the way they held each other, not being afraid at all that their child was bound to a witcher, of all creatures, Geralt’s heart crumbled. No, not his heart. The stone it was covered in. It had never beat so wildly before.

He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. Those two were really made to irritate him. But he let their scents of lavender, rosemary, dandelions and buttercups wash away the dread. It’s not like he could undo what he had said, or claimed. Or what those two humans were ready to give him so freely.

What a naive species humans were. What a naive being he was. A witcher who was ready to claim a child surprise.

* * *

Geralt wished the ride back to town would have been a silent affair, but with Alfred Simon Pankratz in tow nothing was. The man chatted, talking about the kikimora-baby that had hidden in the lake, about the way Geralt had sliced it in half and how heroic it had looked. More than once he had rolled his eyes at the choice of words. He was no hero, not even close. But Julia didn’t seem to mind and even winked at him, once, when she saw him being irritated. She knew her husband was exaggerating, so Geralt let him.

They rode in a slow pace, all next to each other. With Julia in the middle, Geralt could easily make out how she placed her hand over her stomach more than once. A protective gesture. It made his stomach churn with something he couldn’t identify. Maybe the viscount family of Lettenhove had accepted his accidental claim on their child, but Geralt hadn’t yet.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the edge of town. The roofs of the houses had been visible a while ago, while the trees of the forest around them had made way for meadows and fields of growing wheat. It was still green and would take another few months until summer turned to golden autumn to ripen. Not even an hour had passed since they had left the lake behind.

Lettenhove’s streets were clean, and the cobblestone threw the echo of the hooves from house to house. People that crossed their way smiled at them and Geralt knew it was because of the lady and lord Pankratz. It almost was an odd feeling to not have hostile or at least weary eyes on him. He had become used to it, so much that a change of pace felt foreign to Geralt.

At a crossroads, where the street to the left would lead Geralt to the inn he had slept last night and deemed to again before moving on, he stopped Roach. The way to the right led to the viscount’s house, Geralt knew. He faced Alfred, who had stopped as well, with Julia just slightly behind.

“I’ll come collect my coin later,” Geralt said, and the words felt like lead on his tongue. He still pondered if he should, thinking about the child that shouldn’t be connected to him and yet it was. But he needed to repair his saddle and stock up supplies. Maybe he could reduce the price. Just take what he really needed and go.

“And why is that?” Alfred asked, confused.

Geralt narrowed his eyes at the question, nodding towards the direction of the inn. He desperately needed to change out of his still damp armor. He doubted they’d have him in full witcher clad step into their home.

“Pay for the night, change,” he answered slowly. By now Julia was at the side of her husband, looking with her blue eyes between him and Alfred. Then she smiled.

“Dear, our friend probably has left some of his belongings at the Flying Goose,” she said, as if it explained everything. It didn’t. All he owned was in the saddlebags Roach carried. As a witcher he never knew if he returned to the spot he had started a journey from. “We can send an errand boy to gather your stuff, Geralt, while we see to your wounds. I’m sure you want to take a bath as well. Slaying beasts isn’t the cleanliest procedure, I’m sure.”

He blinked, patting Roach’s flank while he processed the words. Or didn’t. Not really, to be honest. Did they invite him to … stay? While Julia hadn’t outright said it, it was so heavily implied in her words, it almost became a matter of course. This … people.

“I don’t have anything left in the inn,” was all he could muster to answer. Alfred’s eyes darted to the saddlebags, back to him and again to the saddlebags. Then he huffed, an exasperated sound.

“By Melitele, Geralt. This is all you own? It really was a good thing we stumbled upon you. Come, we can speak of necessary acquisitions over dinner.”

The words were spoken as a soft command. Soft, but a command nonetheless. So Geralt did as he was told and followed Alfred and Julia Pankratz, down the right path, towards their home.

* * *

Water sloshed, when Geralt slid a little deeper into the bath. The warmth of the water relaxed his tense shoulder and eased the pain. With closed eyes he let his head fall over the rim of the bathtub, his white hair spilling over the wood. This was truly relaxing.

Julia had outright fussed over his wounds, dapping healing salve onto every cut and wanting to bandage even the smallest scratch. Alfred had shooed her out, teasing her that motherly instincts took over before the child was even born. She had laughed, reaching for Alfred to slap him on the chest and left Geralt alone. Watching her leave the bathroom, he couldn’t hide the smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. The couple was something else.

With closed eyes, his other senses heightened and Geralt could make out soft voices filtering through the door. There was Julia’s flowery voice, Alfred’s humming and the cook and a maid holding a conversation. The scent of the soap, thyme and basil, filled his nose.

The Pankratz estate wasn’t that big. They had a huge stable in which Roach was taken care of. It had come to Geralt that a part of the money the viscount owned must come from breeding horses. But other than that the actual house was rather small for a nobleman. He had been shown to a guest room and spied another in the process. The Pankratzs had a saloon and dining room. He was sure some servant's quarters were in the upper level, but that was it. While the house wasn’t big the interior held a sense of finesse he hardly saw anywhere else. He had been to many courts, doing jobs for nobles more often than he wished. They were annoying and loud and selfish, but paid good coin. Their castles and estates used to being stuffy and lavish, a show of wealth, rather than comfortability. This house was different. It was a home. Just another reason to believe Alfred and Julia were different than usual humans. Or at least humans Geralt had met since now.

A knock on the door shook him out of his thoughts and the scent of dandelions and buttercup told Geralt it was Alfred asking for entrance. Geralt hmmed and the man took it rightfully as an invitation to enter. Steps and the click of the door gave away the viscount’s location, without him needing to open his eyes. He did, though, when a voice said “You look relaxed.”

He met Alfred’s gaze, which darted over his upper body. Usually Geralt felt at least annoyed when people outright stared at his scars, but with the man in front of him it was different. There was no pity in the lines of his face. Only curiosity.

“Hmm,” he answered. Or didn’t, really. It made Alfred smirk. He placed a bundle of clothes on a nearby table and reached for a towel.

“I took the liberty to get some of your clothes out of your saddlebags.” Geralt hummed again at the words. Alfred’s smirk grew. “I also took the liberty to detach them from your saddle to give it to a saddler. Poor Roach having to carry you on such a mangled thing.” His eyebrow shot up. He did what? Alfred took the few steps that were needed to close the distance between the table next to the door towards his tub and then kneeled down, so they were at eye-level. This close Geralt could see every line in his face, every trace, every spot in his emerald eyes. Not even a hint of fear could be smelled on the man. How irritating, still.

“How much will that cost me?” Geralt asked a little gruffly, shifting in the tub, leaning forward.

The lines on Alfred’s face shifted, getting thoughtful, but for a moment. “Ah, let me think.” He even placed a finger on his lips, tapping them. Then he grinned. The thoughtful expression made way for mirth. “I’d say, not an ounce, my friend.”

Geralt grunted, even more irritated. “I’m not your friend.”

A laugh washed every thought about doubt and worthiness away. With a swift movement Alfred stood and the towel landed on Geralt’s head. A hand patted his shoulder and the door squeaked when it was opened. A cold breeze sneaked in. “You’re right. You and my child are bound, I’d say friend isn’t a strong enough word anymore. You, my dear witcher, are family, now.”

Then he was gone and the door was closed, leaving Geralt alone, heart pounding and warmth settling into his bones, despite the coldness that had snuck over his damp skin, leaving goosebumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will take this creative energy I have and transform it into a lot of chapters until it's all run dry. I can't promise how long it will hold, but by now it's here.  
> I love writing Alfred so far. I love giving him characteristic Jaskier has as well, but not quite the same. Also Julia is a bamf.
> 
> Thanks for all the support so far and every review. I'm bad at answering but I love every word you toss at me!


	3. going and coming home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt goes and comes back home.

He stayed for a week. That was longer than Geralt ever intended to stay at the Pankratz’s estate. Actually it was longer than he ever stayed, well, anywhere, after leaving Kaer Morhen. It made him feel… fuzzy inside, warm and safe. The more days passed the harder it was for him to leave, but on the other side, the more days passed the more he felt restless inside. He was a witcher and witchers weren’t made to stay at one place for too long.

When he woke up that morning, after exactly one week had passed, he knew it would be his last day in Lettenhove. Golden rays casted the guest room, that had somehow become his room, in a soft shimmer. Yesterday evening he had finally been able to repair the rest of the door that had been broken in the stables and nothing was holding him here anymore. His eyes darted around, taking in the decor, the furniture until they landed on the mirror. Nothing had changed. White hair, a grim face, scars, golden eyes. He was still him, somehow. Yet, he felt different. If this was destiny… well. Geralt had never really believed in it, but here he was.

A knock at the door broke him out of his reverie and he answered with a “mmh”. Without looking away from the mirror, he let Julia enter the room. Her scent wafted over to him, a distinct smell he knew he would never be able to forget. His eyes flickered to her, when she sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

“You will leave, today,” she said and it didn’t sound accusatory. It didn’t even sound sad. It was nothing but stating a fact. For a moment he wanted to explain. The words were on the tip of his tongue. That a witcher couldn’t stop wandering or he would lose himself. That the humans needed him, because there was no one else to slay the beasts that lurked in the shadows. But the warm smile that graced Julia’s face and the way she reached for his hand and simply squeezed, made him realize that no explanation was necessary. She understood. He was grateful for it.

He didn’t nod, he didn’t answer and somehow, still, his thoughts were known. Blue eyes followed his gaze to the mirror and it was strange to hold eye contact through a reflection. Somehow it worked.

“Alfred and I talked about it, yesterday evening. Somehow we knew that you would leave after you repaired that door. Thanks again, by the way.” Julia’s voice, flowery as it always was, was also straight and forward. A woman who knew life and still managed to see the brightness in it. Geralt shook his head, finally looking from the mirror to the woman next to him. There was nothing to be thanked for. He had been invited to stay free of charge, had been welcomed and accepted. He would always repay such kindness as best as he could.

“Witchers…,” she started and gulped. There was a little hesitation and this time it was Geralt who squeezed Julia’s hand that still held his. After this week the Pankratz family had earned to voice whatever they wanted freely. Even the things they didn’t understand about him. “You have a restless life. I know. We know. But this… you and this child” Her free hand laid over her stomach. “you’re connected. Which makes us connected.” She stopped, but their fingers laced into each other. It almost seemed like she needed to arrange her words. It took her but a mere moment. Then she turned fully to him and when she reached for his other hand, Geralt let her. The fuzzy feeling was back, when she smiled at him. So warmly only a mother could.

“You, this child, Alfred and me. If you like, this can be your home. Whenever you need shelter, a friendly smile, company or need to hear Alfred’s annoying songs you’re welcome to return to Lettenhove.” Never before had Geralt seen a human - a person, anyone really - been so open towards him. Everything about Julia was. The way she turned to him with her body, the way she held his hands, holding not trapping them and the way she spoke words meant only for him. It was this moment that Geralt realized family - home - was not a place but people. This people.

“Please, tell me you will come back.” It was a mere whisper but filled with so much longing and fear, that all instincts in him wanted to protect. He had been raised to hide his feelings, because they could lead to his death. Feelings made you vulnerable, sloppy, distracted. All his life Geralt had heeded Vesemir’s advice. Mostly because he hadn’t known better. But if feelings - love, happiness, family - could give you this. Well, he had always been a fast learner.

Without giving it a second thought he pulled Julia into a hug. Her scent of lavender and rosemary grew in intensity as he placed his chin on her shoulder. She shook slightly under his touch.

“Of course I will.” But with his words, the shaking stopped and relief was all that stayed.

* * *

“Put away that pouch!” Geralt said angrily, when Alfred tried to shove it into his hands. They were in the stables. Hay and grass and horse filled his nostrils as he secured the saddle - as good as new, Alfred had seen to that - on Roach’s back. The mare stomped with her hooves on the ground, eager to get moving again. Geralt could sense it.

“But I haven’t paid you for the kikimora, Geralt,” was the answer and if that was a pout…! Oh, it really was a pout on Alfred’s face, as if he was denied the last piece of cake instead of saving his own coin. With a growl Geralt turned around.

“I said, put it away! You repaired my saddle, let me stay at your house and restocked my provisions without wanting any payment. So I don’t want your payment as well.”

At least that seemed to shut the other up, because with a sigh Alfred lowered his still offering hand. “Oh fine,” he grumbled and next to him Julia laughed. She even patted her husband on the shoulder.

“That’s what you get with family,” she grinned and winked at Geralt. If he had learned one thing in this week, than that Alfred sometimes needed to be told to shut up. His wife definitely knew how to do that.

The crunch of boots on hay made them turn towards the exit of the stable, where a young boy appeared. He had strawberry blond hair and freckles. Geralt had learned on his second day that it was Dave, Alfred’s and Julia’s stableboy. Fifteen, bright and very polite. In his arms he held another saddlebag.

“Alfred!” Geralt growled, knowing too well where this was going. But the man just straightened and relieved the boy of his weight, mumbling a “Thank you” and off he went again. There was a sheen to Alfred’s eyes, close to mischief. “You are unbelievable.”

“What? We talked about your meager possessions, Geralt. It’s a gift.” Alfred grinned, while he fixed the saddlebag on his saddle, and surprisingly there was space and - oh. Well now it made sense why it had taken the saddler as long to repair it. To make room for another pair of saddlebags. Patting Roach on the flank, Alfred adjusted the leather one last time, then turned to look at him. “When you get a gift, you say thank you and accept it.”

With a huff, Geralt drew Alfred into a hug and squeezed. “Thank you.” None of them acknowledged the slight waver in his voice. He was glad about it. No one had ever taught Geralt how to say goodbye.

“Take care, my dear friend.”

The words stayed with him, even long after Geralt had left Lettenhove and the sun was sinking towards the horizon, turning the sky into a painting of gold, orange and red. His heart felt heavy but light at the same time, and maybe a goodbye wasn’t so bad, when you knew you could always come back, to receive a warm welcome.

* * *

With the last bits of sunlight, Geralt stoked a fire into blazing. It was a warm night and he was glad he had found the clearing. A nice spot, close to a small stream that had provided him with water. He had caught a rabbit that - with some wild carrots, onions and herbs - bubbled in a pot. His saddlebags were full of provisions but old habits die hard. If it wasn’t needed, Geralt would not touch them. To be prepared in an emergency was what granted a witcher survival.

Some feet away Roach munched on fresh grass, her nostrils blowing out a puff of breath now and then. He had relieved her of the weight she carried, the saddle and bags functioning now as his backrest. Thinking of it, Geralt had no idea what exactly Alfred had gifted him with, other than the fresh pair of saddlebags. He hadn’t exactly looked into them.

Fishing for the pair, Geralt had to admit they looked sturdy and neatly done. The leather was fresh, clean and shimmered reddish in the firelight. Just like everything else the Pankratzs owned, it combined luxury with practicability. Geralt didn’t want to know how much Alfred had paid for them.

Flipping the lid open, Geralt placed one item after the other on the ground. It wasn’t as much as he had thought, thankfully or else he would have drowned in guilt. He didn’t want Alfred to spend so much coin on him. But what he had been gifted was well picked and given a lot of thought. Leather polish and an accompanying rag. He could use it both on his armor and Roach’s tack. Needle and thread, surely a courtesy to Julia, because she had repaired one of his shirts. An actual set of clothing, sturdy and warm. He didn’t have to try it on to know it would fit, and a blanket. Well maybe it really was time to throw his old mangled one away.

Unrolling the blanket, something fell out and onto the ground. It chimed and when Geralt looked at what it was, he snorted. There, innocent and small, was the pouch full of coin Alfred had tried to give him. He must have snuck it into the bag, when he had fixed it on the saddle.

“You fool,” Geralt mumbled to no one but himself, but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the edges of his mouth. Anyway, there was no one but Roach to see it and his girl was otherwise engaged. She had her grass to munch.

The poach was heavy in his hand and Geralt knew it was exactly the amount they had agreed on, before he had… become family. Which was why he wouldn’t spent the money for himself. Thinking about the last week, and what it meant - having a child surprise, having met people that cared for him regardless of it - filled him with so many sensations he had believed witchers were incapable of feeling.

_“When you get a gift, you say thank you and accept it.”_

His smile spread into a smirk and he carefully placed the pouch back into his new saddlebag, covering it with the rest of his new belongings, except for the blanket. This he would sleep with tonight. Two could play that game. Lets see if he couldn’t find something nice for his child surprise. After all, wasn’t it a family’s privilege to spoil a newborn?

* * *

Forest made way for meadows and fields, that were covered with white glittering snow. His breath was white smoke in the air, as was Roach’s. Soft snowflakes danced in the morning light, drifting from left to right to left, before they landed on the ground. It was early, the sun hadn’t managed to slip past the horizon, yet. Only a warm glow that promised a sunny winter day.

Usually this was the time Geralt woke up, but not today. He had ridden through most of the night, had only sought out shelter when even with his witcher senses it was too dark to go on. He had a lot of stamina, but Roach was a mere horse that needed rest. And rest she would get, when he finally made it home. His heart sped up and a smile spread over his face when the first houses of Lettenhove could be seen.

“We’re nearly there,” Geralt murmured into the soft mane and patted Roach’s neck. Her ears turned when she heard the words and speed up without his doing. As if she understood. She probably did.

They slowed down when they reached the edge of the city, cobblestone hidden under soft, fresh-fallen snow. This time Geralt didn’t stop at the crossroad that led him to the Pankratz’s estate. This time, he took the right turn without hesitation. When he saw the familiar house, the stables and the well in front of them, the sun had managed to climb a noticeable amount higher into the sky.

He dismounted, taking Roach by the reins when the door to the stables opened and Dave stuck his head out. The boy’s eyes lit up when he was spotted. Without needing to say anything, Dave made his way towards him.

“Geralt! I knew I heard something,” he said and reached for the reins. Roach neighed and then bumped her head against Dave’s side. “I missed you, too, Roach.”

Giving over the reins, Geralt took the stableboy in. During his absence Dave had grown another few inches. His hair was longer, a little darker and he had less freckles. They were probably strongest in summer. Yet, he looked healthy and happy. “It’s good to see you, Dave.”

The boy had his mouth open to reply, but was cut short when the door to the main house opened. A woman with curly hazelnut hair appeared in the doorframe. With her a scent of blood and tension wafted over to Geralt. He went ridgid. Out of instinct his hand darted to the hilt of his sword.

“I told you to get fresh water, boy!” the woman yelled and only then seemed to realize there was someone else other than Dave outside. An eyebrow shot up, while she mustered Geralt.

“And who are you?”

Her tone wasn’t harsh, but not friendly per se and it irritated Geralt that she reeked of magic. She was a sorceress, but also… she smelled of herbs and ointments and where did the scent of blood come from? It wasn’t strong, but it was there. His nerves were on high alert, while he scrambled inside his head for words.

“Is someone hurt?” was all Geralt managed to say. If someone were, why was everyone so calm? But there was also tension, but not enough. He stepped forward, but stopped when the woman scoffed. Her gaze darted to his witcher medaillon.

“No. You have shit timing, witcher. Dave, the water.” She turned around, her brown dress swishing around her legs, but she didn’t move. Instead she called into the hall. “Lord Alfred, you have a guest.”

Glancing him a last piercing look, she disappeared back into the house. In her stead another man - a very familiar, tired looking figure - filled the spot. His hair was tousled, as if he had reeked his fingers through it one too many times, he had dark rings under his eyes and his clothes were crumpled. But when Alfred spotted Geralt his whole being lit up and he ran towards him. Geralt had to actually steady him, for him to not slip on the snowy ground.

“Geralt,” he exclaimed and threw his arms around him. It took Geralt a little by surprise but the warmth feeling he had missed so dearly all these months came rushing back. Returning the hug was easier than his anxiety had let him believe. Scent of dandelions and buttercups filled his nose, made him relax. He was truly home.

Then his ears made out a low-key pained noise. It was damped by many walls, but loud enough for Geralt’s heightened senses to hear it. That was Julia. He would know this voice anywhere.

“What is going on, Alfred?” he asked, tense, pushing the man a little from his body to look into his face. Nothing made sense. He was graced with a weary smirk.

“She’s in labor. Julia. She’s getting our child.”

Geralt’s mouth fell open, and he had to actively close it. That… was not what he had expected at all. But counting the months in his head, he realized he had been away for a little more than nine months. Oh… okay, now everything made sense. His eyes turned sharp. As did his tongue. “Fuck, Alfred. Why are you here and not with her?”

If possible Alfred sunk a little deeper into himself. He tried to smile but didn’t quite manage. His eyes flitted nervously from Geralt to the still open door, back to Geralt, then to Roach and Dave who followed the conversation, lost. The boy still held Roach’s reins, rooted to the ground. When Alfred looked at Geralt again, he shrugged helplessly. “She threw me out. Said I had too nervous an energy.”

“And you listened to her?” Geralt sounded exasperated. Not that he didn’t understand Julia, but still. He snatched the reins back out of Dave’s hand, shoved Alfred towards the door and growled. “Get back in there to your wife and fucking don’t come out before our child is born.” Then he turned to Dave, eyes blazing. “And you will finally get the water. I can take care of my horse, myself.”

When the two other scrambled to heed his orders, Geralt sighed and rubbed his face. With a pull at her reins he led his mare towards the still open stable door. “Come on, Roach. Seems like this house really needed us to come back.”

And comeing back in time, he had. Soft powdery snow fell and tangled in Geralt’s white hair while he wondered if it was destiny, that had brought him back just in time to be see his child surprise being born. He decided that he didn’t really care, as long as he could be of any help. Closing the stable door behind him and looking at the dozen other horses and his own, he knew there would be a lot of things to do. A newborn always brought change. It was in this moment that it dawned on him, that this change included him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all so amazing and I appreciate every single review!  
> Also, yes, there will be lots of cuteness before things get dark. What is me without a little angst?  
> Also, keep an eye out for the timeline ;-) just saying.


	4. newborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The smell of blood and sweat. The order to "push" and the wail, that is the first tune in a new song. A child surprise is born.

_A hand clasped into another. A hard squeeze. Deep breaths._

_“He’s here. Geralt just arrived.”_

_A smile, true and happy. “Oh, good.” A harsh, pained noise. Another, harder squeeze. Fingers turning pale, but never letting go. A little scream._

_“Push!” The voice of the sorceress. A wail. Silence. Then…_

_“I’m glad he’s here. Everything will be alright, now, that everyone’s here.”_

* * *

He took care of Roach and he deliberately took his time to do so. Still, barely a few twenty minutes had passed and while he knew nothing about childbirth, he knew enough that it could take hours. Long draining hours, that could cost lives… the life of the mother and the child.

No. His hand washed over his face, while he followed the scent of blood, the noises of pained sighs and the urgent order to “push”. He may not like witches, but the woman surely was here to make sure nothing happened to Julia. She would be fine. The child would be fine. The sorceress had reeked of ointments and herbs. Surely she knew what she was doing.

Another scream reached his ears and a shudder run through his body. Tension urged him on to do something, but there was nothing to be done. He was useless right now, bound to wait. Killing a pack of werewolfs was easier than listening to this… a person - Julia - being in pain. His fingers balled into a fist, while he stopped in front of the door that separated him from them. His family. He started to pace.

In the nine months he had been away, the memory of his week with Julia and Alfred had kept him warm in cold nights. It had let him sleep when the moon was too bright and the forest too silent. Their warm smiles had given him strength when he had faced monsters. Alfred’s voice, singing the silliest songs, had let him forget the hard stares and poisoned words of strangers that hated his kind. Julia’s quick wits had calmed his temper when he had wanted to lash out, but rather just snipped a dry answer instead. The moment he had seen the first houses of Lettenhove his heart had settled.

His pacing stopped and he slipped down the wall. Without thinking about it he reached into the pocket of his trousers. Fine links of a delicate chain tangled with his fingers.

They would be fine. He knew they would be, because they had to be. Another pain-filled scream made it to his ears. Panting followed and the orders to “Drink” and “Push”. Time flew, in a way he had never experienced before. When he fought monsters hours could pass in minutes. Now it seemed the other way round. Every second was a minute, every minute an hour and hours felt like half a lifetime must have passed already.

The edge of a pendant cut into his fingertip. A constant feeling in all those fleeting emotions. His eyes darted to the ceiling. Wood, old and well-preserved. A living breathing thing. It had taken him a long time to find the perfect gift.

Always and forever. Family.

_“The shape of a buttercup?”_

_“Yes, and if possible I want you to carve those words into the back.”_

_“Those aren’t words. Rather look like nonsense signs.”_

_“They are words. Just because humans have forgotten the language long ago, doesn’t mean they aren’t real.”_

_“It will cost, witcher.”_

_“Whatever the price.”_

He had made it a habit to stash away a little amount of coin, whenever he finished a contract. The coin pouch Alfred had snuck into his saddlebag had filled slowly but constantly. It was still plenty filled, despite the amount he had spent for his … this gift. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath. Under all the blood and sweat and tension he could still smell the dandelions and buttercups, the rosemary and lavender.

“Almost there, come on, Julia. One last, time. Push. Press hard.” Hope and tiredness was in the air. Exhaustion and happiness. So many mixing feelings, almost too much for a numb witcher like him. But one thought carried him through it all:

I can’t wait to meet you.

Then it was silent, for just a moment. It felt as if something shifted. As if the world stopped, to take a deep breath, hold its lungs - come on, come on, come on - and exhale. A soft clap, then there was wailing, high-pitched and new. A different note, the beginning of a new song. His shoulders sacked and he smiled, inwardly. Gripping the pendant, on a silver chain, Geralt stood.

Welcome home, sweet child.

* * *

It took longer than he anticipated before the door opened and even though the child had been born, there was another painful sound coming from Julia’s mouth. Geralt ignored it. He didn’t know enough of childbirth to connect all the dots, but he knew things were fine. It was fine. They were fine. Julia and the child were fine. He knew it, deep down in his bones he was certain things were alright.

The sorceress stepped out. Her hair was tousled, her dress carried spots of blood and she looked exhausted. Still, she shone with dignity. A magical person through and through. His eyes locked with hers and she nodded at him.

“It’s a boy. They’re waiting for you,” she said and wanted to leave, but Geralt stopped her. All it needed was to take a little step forward. To not let her gaze go. When he knew he had her full attention, he lowered his head. Not much, but enough.

“Thank you,” he said, lowly, but with a clear voice. The words obviously took her by surprise, because she furrowed her brows. Her blue eyes darted over his face, took in the scars that were visible, the strangeness of his eyes. The medaillon. Him, being a witcher. Obviously so. Then she smiled and it was true and honest and warm.

“Not for this, witcher - Geralt.” And she said his name, as if she tested the weight of it on her tongue. “I’d do everything for them.”

He had no reply to her words, so he just nodded. He understood the sentiment, even though he didn’t know her reasons. Maybe one day he would be told. Sorceresses were made to live a long life, after all. Just like witchers. Her eyes twinkled, as if she had read his mind. And maybe she had.

“My name’s Amara,” she said and then, “Go!” It almost sounded fond. This surely was a strange collection of people. So he went, no need to be told twice.

* * *

“I didn’t know they were so… tiny,” Geralt murmured, just looking at the baby that sat in Julia’s arms, sleeping. He really was tiny, his child surprise. All round and soft and vulnerable. A being that couldn’t survive without the help of their parents. So utterly helpless and in need of protection. And wasn’t he made to protect?

But not just him. Julia as well. She lay in her bed, cheeks pale, sweat on her brow and a happiness in her eyes Geralt had never seen before. This bliss was overwhelming and all-consuming and it drenched the whole room. But she was exhausted from giving birth and would need days to get back on her feet. She had given a lot to carry another human being in her belly for over nine months, and more to bring it into this world. He may not know much about a woman’s physique when it came to childbirth but he knew enough to know that. They would need help and Geralt was glad he was here to provide it.

A small laughter startled him out of his reverie and he raised a brow at Julia’s quick giggle. Not even being in labour and birthing a child could take the mirth out of her eyes. A strand of brown hair stuck to her cheek, and there were rings under her eyes, but she was beautiful in it.

“I’m glad he is, or else this whole giving birth would have been a lot more painful,” she joked and Geralt rolled his eyes, but not without smiling. Alfred just suppressed a snort and then patted at the chair that stood next to the bed. He himself was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding Julia’s free hand.

“Sit down,” he ordered and Geralt did as he was told, his eyes not leaving the tiny human being that hadn’t been here not an hour ago. Wrapped in clean white sheets, a patch of faint hair, chubby cheeks, a stubble nose and even tinier fingers than Geralt had ever imagined, he couldn’t process this to become a grown man in a few years. But he would.

“Do you want to hold him?”

“What? No… I mean… yes. Uhm… yes?” Geralt spluttered, taken aback by the sudden question. His too-slow a heartbeat hindered his cheeks from turning red, but if he could, he was sure he would have. Behold the witcher that was embarrassed. Alfred chuckled and didn’t really hide his amusement. But he stopped, when he saw Geralt’s face and Geralt himself didn’t know why, but he was suddenly nervous. What was that inside him, that made him halt to take the child? But the idea he could drop… no. He better not thought about it. Yet, when his gaze found Alfred’s who simply smiled and Julia’s that was so soft, he eased back into himself. Tension forgotten in the light of their trust.

“We guide you through it,” Julia promised while she shifted the child in her hold. Alfred turned his body towards him, took his arms and arranged them to his liking. They ended up like a cradle.

“Just make sure you hold his head, he can’t by himself.”

And then suddenly he had a warm, tiny - so tiny - but soft, living, breathing bundle in his arms and something in his heart melted. Something in him shifted, as if his soul clicked. The head laid on the crook of his arm, his hand was big enough to hold the whole body and when he was sure he - they were safe, he used his free hand to stroke over the tiny hands that had snuck out from the blanket. His index finger was gripped with little, but for such a small human, extremely impressive force and he smiled. 

“Look dear, our scary witcher, all soft,” made it to his ear but he didn’t really register Alfred’s jabs, too focused on the child in his arm. He just couldn’t stop looking. So tiny, so warm, so alive… and trusting, like he wasn’t someone that had killed monsters and men alike. Like he wasn’t spat at in taverns and inns, called horrible names, bought for coin to end. No, in this moment he was trusted to keep safe, to provide. To just be.

“Yes, he is, isn’t he? All ours…”

Silence warmed them and when Geralt finally managed to look back at Alfred and Julia, he saw the two of them together, her head on his chest, fingers entangled, softly looking at him holding their sleeping child. He never wanted to forget this moment, wanted to keep it safe, forever embedded in his memory. He knew he would.

“What do you want to name him?” he asked.

“We haven’t really decided, yet,” Julia answered in her flowery way. Her voice was laced with tiredness, though, and she even held a hand in front of her mouth, suppressing a yawn. Alfred stroke her skin absentmindedly. “Alfred likes Marcus, I like Julian better.” She stopped and looked at him intently. “What do you think?”

Geralt just snorted. “You really ask me, someone who named all his horses Roach?” They stared at him, then they erupted in laughter. It danced in the air like exploding sunshine. But when it ebbed down, Geralt added, “but I think I like the ring of Julian.”

Alfred sighed and pouted, but his emerald eyes betrayed him. “You just don’t want to offend Julia, be honest.”

Geralt smirked and said nothing, rather shifting Julian in his arms. He knew they had already accepted it. All of them had. It was a good name, for a good person.

“I have him better trained,” Julia mused. Geralt would have smacked her, but he had a child in his arms. So he only rolled his eyes. This woman and her quick tongue.

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, it is then,” Alfred murmured and as he slightly moved a fresh wave of dandelions and buttercup hit Geralt’s nose. It made him remember his gift.

“Can you take him?” he asked, looking at Alfred, who rose an eyebrow but took his son without further questions. It looked right. They looked right, Alfred in his bright cotton shirt, Julia covered by a blanket and Julian, bundled up and asleep. This was how it was supposed to be. With deft fingers Geralt fished for the pendant and clasped the chain around Julian’s neck. Then he turned it until the silver buttercup lay on the white blankets his child surprise was covered in. The chain was too long, but he would grow into it, Geralt knew.

“By Melitele, Geralt. How much did you pay for this?” Alfred asked incredulous, while Julia reached for it and run her fingers over the pendant. Her eyes grew when she turned it to see the signs carved into the back.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“Always and forever. Family.” It was but a whisper, but it was enough. In it the question about the price was forgotten, and wasn't asked again. Light caught in the silver, reflecting it, when Julian woke and started to scream. Of hunger, of tiredness, they didn’t really know. But they would figure it out. As a family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've heard all of you and I would never let Julia die in childbirth.  
> Also... I just realized how close of names Julia and Julian are. But maybe that's why Julia liked the name Julian so much?
> 
> What will be cute pet names for Julian? Juls? Juli? July? I have no idea.


	5. winter days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia and Alfred invite Geralt to stay for winter. He learns that he can't really deny them anything.

“You should stay during winter.”

He blinked and looked at Julia, who was already back at eating her porridge, like she hadn’t just invited a fucking witcher to stay at their home for basically - what? - three months. The words were so casually spoken that Geralt needed a moment to register their content. Stay? For winter? Was she serious?

He hadn’t had time to ask, because Julian started to wake up. The moment he opened his round, big, blue eyes he demanded attention and even while tiny he was good in getting what he wanted. The perks of being a newborn. The chair scratched over the ground, when Julia stood, making the few steps to the cradle.

“Ssh,” she soothed and lifted the baby up and into her arms. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” Without further ado she dropped one side of her dress to reveal her breast. In moments a tiny little mouth was onto it, sucking greedily.

The first time Julia had revealed herself in front of Geralt he had pointedly looked away, embarrassed. It had gotten him a raised eyebrow from Alfred and crackling laughter from Julia, who had teased him that surely it wasn’t the first naked breast he’d ever seen. Well it was not, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any decency. Yet, after another and another time, he realized that there really was no big deal about it. Julia was a beautiful woman who fed her son by herself instead of taking a wet nurse, who loved her husband and who Geralt had absolutely no sexual interest in. Looking away - as much as staring - was a disrespect to what mother nature had intended.

“By Melitele, you are hungry!” she said with a gasp and Alfred grinned, reaching for butter and bread.

“He knows what’s good,” was his reply, squeezing his eyelids shut when one ray of morning sunshine caught in his eyes. To sleep long into the morning with a newborn wasn’t going to happen. Geralt didn’t mind. It really suited his usual rhythm.

“Geralt, can you please slap him for me?” Julia answered. She had started to walk in circles, shifting the weight on her arms. With a mmh on his lips, Geralt did as he was told and lightly punched Alfred into the shoulder.

“Ouch.” The immediate reaction of the man was to rub his arm… and grin mischievously. Then however he looked at Geralt and his expression changed. It became more solemn. “You really should stay.”

There were too many replies swirling in Geralt’s mind, so all he did was answer with a “hmm”. How to tell them that he would love to stay, but didn’t think he could. So many reasons piled up, one after another plopping into his head. He couldn’t get coin, staying here. He would get restless and moody. They would see his dark side, the one that surely no one could love, because people in general didn’t like witchers. That they tolerated him to this extend…

“Stop thinking,” Julia said and effectively pulled him out of his downwards spiral. Golden eyes looked at her, bright and spooked.

“I didn’t,” he protested but Alfred just snorted. A very ungentleman-like way to make clear what he thought of the lie. His gaze turned to the window and Geralt’s followed. Snowflakes danced in the air. The yard was covered in a thick white blanket and the snow was almost blinding.

“Tell me, witcher, are there so many more monsters out in the world during winter, than there are in summer?” Alfred ask, and it was the first time in… well since that day at the lake that he called Geralt a witcher. His heart squeezed in his chest and he looked at his friend. The emerald eyes held so much wisdom, even though Alfred was in his late twenties only. His brown hair had fallen into his face.

“No,” was all the answer Geralt could muster to give. His voice had locked in his throat. Alfred had a valid point here. Even beasts hid from the cold, a lot of them sleeping away until there was more food, more people on the road, more everything to live from.

“Then there surely is a place you must be, isn’t there?” Alfred continued and Geralt’s thoughts flew to Kaer Morhen. Of course some of them traveled back to the hideout, to rest and gather strength. Vesemir never turned a former student of his away. But he wouldn’t mourn if Geralt did not show up for a winter, or two. He wouldn’t show up anyway often enough.

“No, not really.” His voice was low, merely a rumble. His face fell, but snapped back up, when Julia sat next to him on her stool, touching him lightly on the arm. Her dress was back up, and Julian rested in her lap.

“Stay here, Geralt. Winter is harsh, even for someone like you. There is no need to sleep on frozen ground, rival with the wolfs and wander aimlessly through fields of snow or storms and blizzards. You can help with the horses and watch Julian grow, at least until the snow melts. Also, think of Roach.”

They looked at each other. The blue of Julia’s eyes was honest and warm and deep like the ocean and he sunk into it. A sigh escaped him and his shoulders slumped. Without thinking about it he reached for Julian, already back to sleep. A tiny human, that did not know of winter and loneliness and self-doubts, yet. Without a word he was placed into Geralt’s arms. Julia trusting him with her son, like she trusted him with everything else apparently. He rocked the child in his arms, gently.

“Is there any chance my protests will be heard?” he asked and Alfred laughed lightly. Geralt turned to look at him, but the man just bit into his bread. He didn’t even shake his head, he just was. There. His whole body saying “not at all”.

“Mmh.” His eyes fell on the sleeping Julian and somehow the prospect to stay here in Lettenhove for winter didn’t scare him as it had before. “Thought so.”

* * *

He heard footsteps and looked towards the door, that was opened a few moments later. Brown locks whipped up and down with the steps, as Amara made her way into the nursery. Julia and Alfred had turned the second guest room into it, even before Geralt had arrived. His room, though, had stayed as it was.

“Oh,” was exclaimed, a soft sound, almost like exhaling. “I hadn’t expected you in here.”

Geralt chuckled, his fingers gently stroking over Julian’s forehead, swiping the few thin hairs away. He sat on a chair, the baby in his arm. With closed eyes, sleeping soundly, a breath so faint that even Geralt with his witcher senses had to give attention to it to hear, he was a picture of peace. A peacefulness that had settled into his own heart.

His attention was directed at the sorceress when she made another step into the room and closed the door behind her. Her features were curious, a red dress flowing down her body.

“Alfred’s tending to the horses and Julia is taking a long-needed bath,” Geralt finally explained, not shifting from his position. It had taken them so long for Julian to finally sleep. A miracle how silent he was now, when thinking back to his wails and screams. For a baby he sure knew how to make noise.

His golden eyes darted over the sorceress in front of him. Again, she smelled of herbs and oils. With her she carried a bag, leather, soft-looking, that was slung over her shoulder with a strap. He didn’t know the woman, but he held a deep-rooted gratefulness for her, that she had helped Julia through the process of giving birth. It didn’t mean that he let her out of his sight, as she moved to place the bag on a table and came over to him.

“I’m here to do a check-up on Julian,” she said and Geralt’s eyebrow shot up. A check-up?

“He’s fine!”

A little chuckle made it to his ears and with ease she brushed a strand of her locks back behind her ear. Careless movements, that told Geralt she wasn’t afraid - of him, the situation, her surroundings.

“I’m sure he is. But he’s a newborn, barely two weeks old and I’m a healer and midwife. Let me do my job. It’s routine.”

Assessing her, he saw the sincerity in her eyes, in her stance. She had been there, during his birth, so after a short moment Geralt nodded. He shifted Julian in his arms, to be able to stand up. “What do you need me to do?”

His question was answered with another chuckle and she stopped him from standing by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing, just hold him,” she said and kneeled down in front of his feet. Her fingers seeked out Julian’s forehead and she touched the boy lightly. On her lips words Geralt had never heard before and didn’t even try to understand. A healer and a midwife, but still a sorceress.

In his arms Julian shifted, made a noise, eyelids fluttering and Geralt hummed under his breath. As far as he could, with holding the child close, he stroked over the tiny arms and shoulders. Julian didn’t wake, just yawned and kept on sleeping. Blue eyes, a color like ice but not cold, found his.

“Interesting,” she murmured, more to herself but loud enough for him to hear. The question must be visible in his face, because Amara clarified. “Your heartbeat is so slow it calms him down.”

Oh, he thought. It would explain why Julian stopped crying every time Julia placed him in his arms, too exhausted to keep trying to sooth her own son. They had wondered what it was that Geralt could give, but not Julian’s own parents. He smiled, a tiny smile. Seemed like it was rather his mutations than destiny that were at play here. So they were good for one thing at least.

Amara gave Julian a last affectionate stroke, her thumb darting over his cheek, then she stood. “He is completely healthy, and I made sure he won’t catch any childhood diseases.” It was clear by the way she looked at the boy, that she loved Alfred and Julia’s son. For what, Geralt couldn’t say, but he understood. There was nothing not to love.

“How come a sorceress like you lives in a small town like Lettenhove, instead of a court?”

The question had slipped from his mouth, curiosity getting the better of him. Emotions crossed Amara’s face and for a moment Geralt was sure he wouldn’t get an answer… and he wouldn’t think less of her. It was, after all, a very personal question. But then she sighed, turned her back to him but only to retrieve a chair to sit. Then she was face to face with him again.

“I had been assigned to the Redanian court, some twenty years ago. But it’s hard to give advise, when your own brother is used to not listening to his older sister. I couldn’t stay, so I came here, to what comes closest to a family I still have and that actually wants me. I decided long ago, I’d rather be a healer than a sorceress. Sorceresses live for power, healers to help.”

Blinking, Geralt tried to process the words. So many information needed to sort in his head, but when they clicked it filled him with shock. He lived far from politics, too old but too young to take interest in the comings and goings of kings and queens. He didn’t mingle, didn’t judge. Sometimes he took a contract from royalty and always promised himself to not do it again. Too much stress. Too much antics to deal with, but always good coin. But this…

“You are of blue blood?” he asked, to make sure he got it right. Amara laughed and shook her head.

“No, Geralt. When I cut myself my blood’s still red,” she teased and he harrumphed, but didn’t move too much to not wake Julian.

“You know what I mean,” he told her and she was silent for a long time. Then her shoulders fell.

“I was. I’m not anymore. You can’t be of magic, a sorceress and be a princess. I parted with my royal past the moment I ascended. Royal blood is only worth a dime when it can procreate.” A weak smile graced her face, but it vanished swiftly. His heart clenched and he felt sorry for her. He knew what women gave up, becoming a sorceress. Their kind was not meant to be parents. Yet, here he was.

“I live in town, close to the Flying Goose, in a red painted house. If you ever need my help, Geralt, come find me. You’re part of the Pankratz family now, after all.” With those words she stood and made her way out of the room. But before she left completely, she stopped under the doorframe. Her body turned and her eyes swept his figure, holding Julian. A smile turned the edges of her mouth up, sincere this time, then she was gone.

Only after she had left and had been gone a long time her words reverberated through his mind. In fact, only when he was back in his bed, trying to sleep but couldn’t, it dawned on him what she had said. Golden eyes wandered from the ceiling, he had been staring at, to the wall. Then he squeezed them shut.

_ “What comes closest to a family I still have…” _

A viscount was a nobleman and usually was of higher birth. But to belong to the Redanian Court? Sighing, Geralt shook his head and willed himself to sleep. He didn’t mingle and he didn’t judge. Alfred was his friend, viscount or not, royalty or not. He was Alfred. The man who loved his wife, who had made him family, who had accepted him after he had claimed his son as his child surprise and had demanded him to stay for winter. If he was of the Redanian Court, he belonged to it as much as Amara did. So not at all.

His thoughts flew back to Julian, with his blue eyes, chubby cheeks and tiny fingers. He was healthy and would stay that way, with a caring healer at his side. It was all that mattered.

* * *

He stayed, for days and weeks and months. He helped Alfred with the horses, learned how to help to give birth to a foal and check for injuries and illnesses on mares and stallions alike. He was taught how to make bread and stew from scratch by Illona, the cook, because she found a man who had to cook for himself should at least know the basics. He taught Dave how to wield a dagger, because - after a glance at the boy - Geralt had decided a sword would do more damage than good. The main reason he wanted to learn, anyway, was to impress Diana, the maid. A sweet thing, fourteen and taken in by Alfred and Julia, when she had lost her parents at the age of ten. He rolled his eyes at it and showed Dave anyway, but not until he made sure the stableboy understood it was a weapon and dangerous.

“Only ever use it to protect and not to harm, understood?”

He helped and he lived, sometimes riding out for a day or two, no more than a week, when rumors of monsters nearby caught up to him. It helped for him to stay in shape and not feel too restless. Whenever he came back, seeing the houses of Lettenhove glinting with snow on their roofs, he felt a calmness he never had felt before. Dave would take care of Roach and Julia would greet him with a smile on her face and Julian on her arms.

He lived and he learned and he watched Julian grow, babbling in his own voice, trying to crawl but not quite yet managing. The hairs on the child’s head became darker, the same shade of brown his mother had. The cheeks turned less chubby and clothes came and went, because he swiftly grew out of them. Julian still slept soundly in Geralt’s arms, calmed by a slow heartbeat.

He lived with Julia and Alfred, with Julian, with Dave and Illona and Diana until the sun turned warmer and the snow melted. One day, after many peaceful days in Lettenhove, Geralt woke up, blinded by the sun shining in his face and he knew he had to leave again. Outside the grass was green, crocuses and snowdrops peeked their heads out of the earth and the last patches of snow turned to water in the morning sun.


	6. the last hunt of the season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt promises to be back for Julian's first birthday. He takes a contract before that, though.

It hadn’t been intentional. He never knew exactly where his contracts would lead him to. Sometimes deep into the southern kingdoms, sometimes as far as the northern mountains. He traveled from north to west to east to south. In his roughly forty years of being alive, he had seen a vast part of the continent, even though he could be considered relatively young. Younger than other witchers. He hadn’t even lived a full human lifetime, yet. Not that it stopped people from despising him. A witcher was a witcher, no matter the years he carried. It hadn’t been intentional, but when he had found himself in Redania, to kill a bruxa… and had earned a hefty sum for it, so much he could be lazy at least for a moment - he couldn’t stop himself. Lettenhove was close… and his heart ached.

It was the high season of summer, the sun burning down on his neck and drying rivers and lakes alike. Yet, the forest around him was cool, the lake he had killed that kikimora in back then still shimmered turquoise, and birds chirped in the air. It was peaceful and when forest made way for fields and meadows - green with grass and corn golden, nearly ripe to be harvested - he urged Roach on. When he saw the first roofs, blurring from the heat, his mouth tugged into a smile.

People recognized him. They waved, telling him ‘hello’ and ‘good to see you, Mister Witcher’. It was a magical feeling he had almost forgotten during his travel. He was used to be eyed at least wearily when he entered a town. People in general didn’t like witchers. None of it was true for this place. Because the townsfolk loved their Viscount Lord and Lady Pankratz and The Lord and Lady Pankratz loved him. Magical indeed.

When Roach trotted towards the estate, ears flicking back and forth, a figure already awaited him. With sun reflecting in her brown hair and a baby - still a baby, so tiny and vulnerable, but oh had he grown in those few months - on her arms, Julia grinned at him. He slipped from the saddle, looking for Dave who came running from a nearby paddock. His eyes shone with glee, he was sweaty and smelled like horse, but Geralt hugged him briefly nonetheless, before giving over Roach’s reins. Then he stepped towards Julia and when she slung her arm around his neck, he knew he was home. Scents of lavender and rosemary wafted into his nose.

“Word travels fast,” Geralt murmured, amused, when they let go. It was the only explanation for Julia to know he would come. She simply laughed and gave Julian over, when the small boy grabbed a handful of white hair to tug. Geralt took him without hesitation.

“Oh,” she mused, the familiar mischief visible in the lines of her face, “doesn’t it always when a witcher enters a town?”

And in a way, Geralt couldn’t even argue with her. So he hummed and looked down at the big, blue eyes that watched him, babbling on and about. He shifted Julian in his arms and smiled. “Missed me?” A blubber came from a throat unable to form coherent words, yet. It made Geralt chuckle. “I take that as a yes.”

* * *

He stayed for three days, before his witcher instincts urged him on to be back on the road. A short reprieve, but a well-lived and happy one. With a real bed, a bath and most importantly honest and true smiles. Before he saddled Roach, Alfred pulled him into a crushing embrace and made him promise to be back soon. He laughed and tousled the man’s hair.

“I will be back with the first snowfall,” he said, not knowing if he could make that happen, but instinctively wanting to. But, because Vesemir had always told him to not give empty promises, he added, “Latest for his birthday.” His head nodded towards Julian who had fallen asleep on Julia’s arm. “Wouldn’t want to miss him turning one year old for anything on this continent.”

The silver pendant had fallen out from Julian’s shirt and glinted in the morning light. Even though it was early it was already warm, promising to be hot later on. Geralt wanted to ride a good distance, before heat and humidity drove him to take a rest.

“We hold you to that,” Julia said, pressing into Geralt’s side - the best hug she could give with a child on her arm. It was still a reassuring and comfortable touch. Stroking Julian’s forehead, Geralt thought that when he was back, his rapidly growing child surprise would be able to crawl. It hadn’t worked at all, by now, but had looked promising. He hummed and mounted.

“Please, do.”

As the houses of Lettenhove turned smaller and then vanished behind him, Geralt wondered what a suitable present for a one-year old could be.

* * *

Snow fell. It were just a few lonely snowflakes which melted not even before they touched the ground. It didn’t really count as a snowfall. Not to mention, he was already on his way towards Lettenhove. A week’s ride, if it went without any distractions. Maybe ten days. He had ample of time. Which was, when a town he crossed during his travels asked for help, he couldn’t deny them. He was promised good coin, too.

“We think it’s a kikimora, sir. Maybe, two. People are vanishing in those swamps. A merchant came back and told us he saw the beast. A yes, that’s … that’s precisely what he described.”

Geralt had nodded and put the drawing away. He had found that for a lot of people it was easier to recognize a monster by their sight rather than their name. A vampire? A bruxa? Wasn’t it all the same? And what was the difference between a ghoul and a drowner, anyway? He knew, had made it his livelihood to know, but a mere commoner? No, they mostly didn’t and it was too risky not to know. Geralt was aware of the risks. He would pay with his life, should he face the unknown without preparation.

Two kikimoras, though, shouldn’t be a problem. He thought back to a faithful day, almost two years ago, now. Maybe another kikimora mother and its child? Hopefully without getting a child surprise this time. Not everyone was so … well so much like Alfred and Julia were. He shook his head slightly and focused back on the present. The alderman described the way and when Geralt stepped outside another snowflake touched his cheek. The sky was gray and endless, clouds gathering together. This would be his last contract, he promised himself, before he would head home for winter. Two weeks and four days. A smile slipped onto his face, despite the cold that hit his cheeks. Two weeks and four days until Julian would turn one year old.

* * *

It was cold. His body felt cold, freezing - but also burning hot. Like a volcano that had erupted into the deepest, darkest ocean. Lava that turned to stone, unmovable, brittle - dead. He shuddered and slipped his arms around Roach’s neck. Felt her movements through his own body and winced. She limped.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he said - slurred - but his mind was too foggy to realize it. As if she understood, she neighed, throwing her head back. Keeping him awake. His eyelids fluttered open. Pain. Radiant pain, bright and blinding and …

“Oh,” he sighed, lowly, eyelids fluttering back shut. His mind spun. His head throbbed. Something dripped down his chin, onto his ripped armor.  _ Oh. _ It dripped from his hands into Roach’s fur. It dripped from his elbows onto the snow. Red, a stark contrast against the white.

Snow, that crunched under the hooves as Roach marched on and on. She knew the destination, stubbornly carrying her rider despite the odds. The snow gathered on his saddlebags, glinting white and turning the leather dark. Some held the powdery water at bay, the other older ones, didn’t. Alfred had chosen well, back then. Geralt didn’t realize.

The wind carried the snowflakes forward, let them dance in the air. Dozens, no thousands of them. A wall of snow that turned a forest, fields and meadows white. The weather had changed quickly.  _ Or not…  _ it had just been too long. It had taken him too long. His thoughts slipped through his fingers like sand.

Five days? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? No! No, not twenty. He had promised.

He winced, shifted and held back a cry of agony. Pain, like flames. A volcano erupting through his body. He slumped further, hands not even circling Roach’s neck anymore, but hanging loosely at his side. The sound of the hooves on the snow changed. The ground changed. It didn’t make it through to him.

Nothing made it through to Geralt’s mind anymore. Not his surroundings, nor the houses that had replaced fields and meadows. Nothing, not even the shocked faces and hushed voices. Someone called out to him. He didn’t hear.

_ “Get word out to the Lord and Lady. Someone run up to Amara. Now. Move, boy. Run as fast as you can.” _

He didn’t hear. Didn’t see. His mind spun, spun around as the blood seeped out of his body while something hindered his wounds from closing. It spun, counting the days that had passed. Not twenty, he realized. Made sure to get this little fact right. Not two weeks and four days. No. Couldn’t be. He had promised.

“Geralt? Geralt! By Melitele, Geralt!”

His eyes opened and he saw a figure, running towards him, shouting his name. The voice made something in him click. A voice he knew so well from constantly humming and singing in his presence. A voice that belonged to dandelions and buttercups. Home. He sighed, relieved… and then he fell, the world turning black.

* * *

The first thing he realized, when he woke up, was the warmth that snuggled into his armpit. A foreign feeling, so different from the dull pain that seeped into him as consciousness did. It felt familiar, the presence soft and content, while his mind cleared. His eyelids fluttered open and for a moment he was blinded by the light that shone through the window. Then Geralt adjusted and could make out the pattern of the wooden ceiling. His head turned slightly and he saw a tuft of brown hair. A tiny head had used his arm as a pillow.

He smiled… and with the movement the pain zinged through his body. A groan slipped from his throat and a stool scratched on the ground. His eyes found Alfred, suddenly standing over him, fussing.

“You’re awake. Oh, thank the gods you’re awake!” he said in rapid succession, words tumbling out of the man’s mouth in a way that betrayed how incredibly worried he was. “Are you feeling pain? Do you need something to drink? I should call Amara. Do you want to sit up? I can help you -”

“Alfred,” Geralt interrupted him with a thick voice. The other man stopped in his babbling and turned towards him, eyes big and emerald-green, waiting, assessing. Needing to be told what to do. “I’m fine.”

With a thud the man sat back on his chair, arms suddenly crossed and spine ridgid. His voice was sharp when he spoke, words clear and pointed. “You are not fine! How do you always try to tell me you’re fine, when you’re obviously not? Bleeding is no indication of health. Geralt… what happened?”

The words brought back their first meeting, when Geralt had been lightly injured and Alfred had wanted to bring him to a healer, first, before seeing the kikimora. Well, back then Geralt had been fine… now, though. He tried to sit, carefully extracting his arm from where Julian lay, still sleeping. He winced in pain, slumping down before hands steadied him. Oh, well, maybe Alfred was right when he said he wasn’t fine.

“Let me help you, you stubborn idiot,” Alfred chided, yet his touch was gentle as he guided Geralt into a sitting position. The witcher only settled, though, after he pushed Julian close to his hip, needing the touch to distract him from all the parts of his body that hurt. In all the comotion, the boy never once woke. How strange...

“He didn’t sleep,” Alfred pointed out when he sat back in his chair, as if he had read Geralt’s mind. Only now Geralt realized the dark circles under the emerald eyes, the tousled hair, the rumpled clothes. Worry was etched into every line of Alfred’s body. He screamed tiredness. “Only when we settled him next to you, he did. Which we couldn’t until about two hours ago, because it took Amara nearly a fucking day to make sure you didn’t die under our fingers. Which brings me back to my question, Geralt. What the fuck happened to you?”

What had started mildly bemused had become a sharp voice. Closing his eyes, Geralt took a deep breath to keep the guilt that clogged his throat at bay. A full day to get him to recover? It meant they had worried for a full day, and it pained him to know what it must have meant for Alfred and Julia and Amara. The sorceress had saved his life… he owed her.

“I took a contract, a town a weeks ride away from here,” Geralt started to explain, eyes still closed, because he couldn’t take Alfred’s gaze. “They said two kikimoras, easy enough.” A dark chuckle bubbled up his throat, when Alfred soundly huffed at his words. Despite himself he opened his eyes and found the emerald eyes boring into him. But the man let him continue. “Turned out it weren’t only two of them, but a nest full.”

Emerald eyes went wide, then hard. “How many is a nest?”

Geralt winced again at the question, shoulders slumping a little. Like he was a child that got scolded. Maybe because he knew he should have taken better care, should have checked than blindly trusting the words of some humans. “I … well, stopped counting after the twelfth one.”

“Sweet Melitele, Geralt and you didn’t thought after killing more than twelve of those beasts, it wouldn’t be wise to stop and care for your wounds? Oh, no, don’t answer that, you obviously didn’t, riding here all bloody and poisoned.”

But Geralt only blinked. “Wait, poison? Kikimoras aren’t poisonous.”

“Well, those were,” Alfred huffed, looking ridiculously upset and offended. It made Geralt smile, while he tried to solve this puzzle in his head. The headache that still lingered and the dull pain in his limbs didn’t help. Yet, poison would explain why his wounds hadn’t healed and how there had been so many of them at all. Usually it wasn’t a kind that gathered in packs, like werewolfs did. Maybe the swamp had been toxic?

He shifted again and gave up. No explanation came forth and he would probably never know. Not that it mattered, anymore. He was alive, the kikimoras dead. His gaze darted back to Alfred, amazing, humble Alfred who worried for a witcher - no. Who worried for a friend, who was a witcher. “Thank you for saving my life.”

There was a beat of silence, then Geralt could hear a deep exhale. “I didn’t save your life, Amara did. She’s sleeping the exhaustion off. It drained a lot of her energy to heal you. Thankfully we have her here, so say that to her when she’s awake, again.”

Thankfully indeed, Geralt thought and then Julian shifted next to him, rolling to his side. He looked like no harm could happen in the world and Geralt wished for his innocence to stay like this, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Carefully he lifted his arm to stroke the back of Julian’s head. Muscles ached with the movement but the touch was worth it. “Did I miss his birthday?” he asked and to his surprise, Alfred shook his head, the edge of his mouth tugging upwards.

“No, you dumbass, lucky oaf. Making a promise and then barging in here in the last moment possible, to not break it. It’s tomorrow.”

And somehow that soothed Geralt’s pain more than anything else could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never said I don't do angst, didn't I?
> 
> Oh and if you want to ramble with me on tumblr come find me: arzani-fuchsia. I would love to get to know all of you better and you can always shoot me asks and come chat.


	7. birthday wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> watch me get emotional over a small boy and a horse

They celebrated Julian’s first birthday in Geralt’s room. He wasn’t allowed to stand up, yet, even though that now as the poison was neutralized his healing ability had kicked in and quickened up the process immensely. But Amara would gut him, should he get out of bed early, so there was no helping it. He stayed between the fine linen of sheets, while Julian climbed all over him. The boy was a delight, laughing, bubbling and forming words. Geralt’s heart melted when he realized that “Galt” was the child trying to say his name. He wasn’t there, yet, but close.

When the door opened, Geralt looked up to see Julia enter. In her hand she held a plate with a cake. A candle was burning brightly on it, and Alfred who had sat at the bed, stood to relieve his wife of it. He gave her a quick peck, before he placed the cake on the nearby table. It smelled delicious, had the whole time Julia had been baking. It was a lemon-tart with vanilla cream. Geralt knew, his nose was fully functionable.

Behind her Illona trailed in with a tray full of cups, spoons, sugar, milk and a big pot of tea. She was followed by Diana, carrying plates and a moment later Dave walked in, smelling fresh. The tips of his hair were still wet from the bath.

“Where’s Amara?” Geralt asked, when the sorceress didn’t follow as he had thought. His gut clenched at the thought that she was still exhausted from healing him, unable to attend Julian’s birthday. But before he could voice a further question, a figure slipped in and closed the door behind her.

“I’m here, no need to make such a face,” Amara smiled and Geralt replaced the thin line of his mouth with a small smile. Yet, the bags under her eyes didn’t go unnoticed. She had used a lot of energy to save him and Geralt would thank her properly in a moment of privacy. But today was to celebrate and not to worry. He was alive, well - as was Amara. They all were and all were here. His heart sored.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” he answered, almost grinning and Julia turned around, pointing a custard-smeared knife at him. Her eyes glinted. She had caught up on his mocking no matter the subtelity.

“You, Sir, will behave or else you won’t get cake,” she chided, voice as sharp as the blade. But also covered in as much sweetness as the knife. Geralt kept a straight face, but it was hard, even for him. Around these people, his odd adopted family, he felt less a witcher and more human than he ever had.

“That, my lady, would be incredibly cruel, as you’ve teased me with its fine smell since you put that tart in the oven. Have mercy on your friendly witcher companion…”

“...who’s furthermore wrapped in bandages” Dave had to add - to further prove a point Geralt knew - and yet he grimaced. The pain from his wounds were mostly gone, but the guilt to have everyone worried stayed far longer.

“Don’t remind me.”

The boy looked sorry immediately, chewing on his lips until Geralt smiled at him to soften the guilt. It wasn’t the first time he was wrapped in bandages and it wouldn’t be the last time. Somehow, though, it was the first time so many people cared.

Everyone was distracted when Julian tried to stand, grabbing Geralt’s arm for support. He didn’t quite manage, fell back on his bum and laughed. Without thinking Geralt shot out his other hand to steady the child, ignoring the pang of pain that zipped through him from the sudden movement. Not bothered by the hand on his stomach Julian raised his arm, almost pointing and babbled something that sounded almost like “cake”. Well, he had a point.

“I’d say he wants us to start eating,” Diana pointed out. She looked hopefully towards the half plated tart, eyes shining. Alfred grinned and reached for a plate, giving it to their maid. Or well, Diana really was more like a daughter to them anyways.

“Who are we to deny the birthday boy’s wishes? Eat, enjoy. Try to overlook Julia’s medicore baking skills.”

He giggled when Julia swatted at him and Geralt was glad she had placed the knife on the table beforehand. Amara had done enough healing during this week so far. No need to add a cut, caused by a kitchen blade wielded by an angry wife.

“Don’t you dare, you fiend.” Julia’s blue eyes shone with fire, stance shifting, ready to fight and claw her way through her husband’s mockery. Well, Geralt had to admit, she was a fierce wife, bold and noble and elegant. Alfred didn’t stand a chance and he seemed to regret his words instantly, when Julia dipped a finger in the custard and smeared it on her husband’s nose.

“Have mercy, my Lady, I’m but a mere commoner.”

“Hush your babbling, it’s too late, now.”

Next to him Julian started to bubble up laughter again and Geralt sat up a little more, when Illona gave him a plate. She looked amused, all too accustomed to her employers’ antics.

“You, my dear Julian, have the most chaotic parents,” she mused, but when she looked at Geralt something in her softened. “Well, maybe not all of them are.”

While he still needed to process what Illona had just said, the cook shot up again, scolding. “Diana, really? We have dinner later.” She snatched the plate out of the maid’s hand who had helped herself another slide of the tart before she had even finished her first one. Her face fell, looking mortified.

“But it tasted really good.”

“See? Thank you, Diana,” Julia chimed in, shooting daggers at Alfred who cleaned his nose from the custard but missed a speck. His eyes crinkled with glee. “At least someone appreciates my baking. Let her have another slice, Illona.”

“But…” the cook starte but seemed to realize her arguments were in vain. She saved her breath and handed back the plate to Diana, who snatched it with happiness in her eyes.

Geralt tuned them out for the moment, smiling as he tasted the tart himself. Lemon melted on his tongue, the flavor incredibly harmonized and the texture soft and chewy. It was one of the best lemon tarts he had ever tasted. But maybe, just maybe, with so many people he loved around him and the small body of Julian pressing into his side, he was a little biased.

* * *

After three full days in bed, Geralt was so annoyed with himself, everyone else and the world, that Amara allowed him to stand up. Huffing, he muttered a silent “finally” that he knew the sorceress could sense. But she only raised an eyebrow at him and said nothing. He had promised to not strain his wounds and himself, take it easy and let Amara check up on him daily. He promised, would have promised everything, really, to just get out of bed. Witchers weren’t meant to stay still for so long and by the gods he loved that woman but she had a tendency to fuss. To fuss and to sass him. Geralt wondered if that was what having a sister must feel like. He couldn’t tell, his witcher brothers from Kaer Morhen hardly a comparison.

“I’m going back home, today,” she told him when he had swung his legs over the edge of the bed to sit up. His amber eyes met hers. “I’m the sole healer of Lettenhove and people rely on me. Also, I need some peace and quiet for once.” As if on cue something cluttered and Julian started to wail. A smirk appeared on his face. She may have a point here.

“I thought you wanted to check me over daily,” Geralt answered her, the snark audible but Amara just snorted.

“Ah yes, I still do. The daily walk will do you good,” she said and before Geralt could retort that they were currently staying on a estate known for horse breeding, the sorceress added, “and you’re forbidden of horse riding until I say so.”

Oh, damn that women. He snorted, but stood up. Roach. He hadn’t seen his girl in four days. His fingers flexed and some dull aching reminded him he wasn’t fully healed yet. But it was nothing compared to what he had experienced before.

“You’ll see me before you go?” Geralt asked and Amara rolled her eyes, but it was rather fond.

“Of course,” she answered him and Geralt drew her close to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you for your care,” he murmured into her skin. Then he was gone, heading towards the stables. But the familiar scent of herbs stayed in his nose.

* * *

The smell of horse hit his nostrils even before he slid open the big wooden door to the stables. It was a building almost as big as the main house, completely made out of wood. Whinnies and snickers greeted him, hooves on hay and soil, beating hearts inside the graceful animals. They were many, twenty and more, for they were inside during the winter months.

His eyes darted around, taking in the stallions, mares and geldings. In one box he saw Julia’s white mare brushing her head against the flank of Alfred’s stallion… ah no. Not anymore. Alfred must have gotten it gelded. Yet, somewhere deeper in the big box, hidden by the shadows Geralt could feel another third heart beating. Small, fluttering, young. He had gotten a chance to breed, to carry on his legacy.

Yet, as beautiful as all the Pankratz horses were, Geralt wasn’t here for them. He was here for Roach. Following his senses and his nose, he walked further into the stable. Dave wasn’t anywhere to be seen, yet -

A man walked out of a box at the end of the corridor, hair tousled, smile a little subdued. His hand run through his hair and then Alfred spotted “Geralt!”

Smiling, Geralt made his way over to his friend and absentmindedly brushed a piece of hay from his shoulder. The man grinned at him, leaning a pitchfork against a wooden pole. “I see Amara has left you out of her grasp,” he mused and Geralt snorted.

“Hmm, but not without precise instructions.” It made Alfred bark a laugh.

“Oh, I can imagine. But do tell, how do you feel?”

Geralt hummed at the question and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t one to complain. He knew it would take another few days to fully heal, all pain gone, but Amara had done a wonderful job. She knew her trade. He was grateful for it.

Emerald eyes darted up and down his body, assessing, before Alfred shook his head. “You’ve never been a man of many words, surely.” Geralt ignored him in favor to peek over the Alfred’s shoulders. Inside the box in front of him - which was huge for one single horse - he could see a very familiar sight. Soft eyes, big and beautiful, looked at him. But the way Roach breathed, the way she smelled and her ears flickered, he knew something was wrong.

Following his gaze Alfred turned around and then sighed. The forlorn look was back in his eyes. A hand landed on Geralt’s shoulder, squeezed and stayed, to give comfort while Alfred spoke what Geralt had already assumed. His mind had been foggy and he couldn’t recollect what exactly had happened on his ride towards Lettenhove, but he remembered too clearly that Roach had limped.

“I think one of those beast you killed must have hit her. Her left flank had had a gaping wound. We care for our horses and she will live, but…”

He didn’t have to continue for Geralt to know what he wanted to say. She would live, but she wouldn’t be able to keep being his companion on the road. Stepping into the box, Geralt approached his mare and let her sniff at him, before he leaned against her neck. She nuzzled into his head and then nipped at his hair.

“Thank you for your support,” he murmured into the fur. “Thank you for carrying me here and saving my life. You’ll have a nice home with Alfred and Julia and Dave and the rest. And I’ll be here, too, for another few weeks, before winter turns to spring and I have to go again. But then you can watch over Julian for me and keep him safe as well. Will you do that?”

The horse snickered, as if answering him and Geralt smiled, his heart full of sadness and gratefulness at the same time. There wasn’t a better place for his long-time companion to outlive her days than here, at the Pankratz estate, between all those wonderful people. Even though he knew he would miss her, like he missed all his horses. The road could be a lonely place and sometimes they were the only friendly souls close-by. Sometimes they were the only friendly soul who didn’t judge or hated him for being a witcher. Then his gaze fell back on Alfred who watched him, patiently. He didn’t seem in the slightest irritated that he talked to a horse. Sometimes all Geralt had was Roach, but here in Lettenhove, he slowly realized - still processing, even after over a year - it wasn’t the case. Here he had family.


	8. horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know shit about horses. I will write a fucking ton about horses, because this fandom relies on the only species who has one (1) braincell. I love my own misery.

By now Geralt knew the way to Amara’s house by heart. He swore he could have walked the twenty minutes blindfolded. Actually he had even tried to walk it with his eyes closed once, but after people had started to murmur and chuckle he had stopped. But in hindsight, he wasn’t sure if it was more because he had dodged everyone a good distance away, to not bump into people. His nose helped a lot, his witcher senses even more heightened when one was taken away. It must have looked like a rather funny dance - or something.

This time he let his eyes wander lazily, roam the familiar sight of the houses of Lettenhove. Snow crunched under his boots, his heavy woolen coat enough to keep him warm. The sun was shining and reflecting on the walls and snow-covered streets. It almost kept him blinded. Covering his eyes with his hands, he smiled when the baker’s wife waved at him from through the window. He lifted his hand in a greeting back.

Strange to be so familiar with a town - and so well-liked - that people actually enjoyed seeing him. To enjoy seeing people. Actually that was quite stranger than the other way round.

Everything was white, except for the stone-walls of the houses and the wood of the window-sills. He had seen Lettenhove in summer before and he loved the chatter, the people lazily walking to the town’s square to gather for market day, kids having a dip in the fountain in the middle of the town. Flowers bloomed, trees giving shade in the heat. It was different in winter, when everything seemed to go a notch slower. When people stayed inside to hide from the cold. From somewhere he could hear laughter and it made Geralt smile. Well, not today. Today was a beautiful day and he could hear snowballs siring through the air, children giggling, mothers calling for them to be careful. Winter had its own charm.

“Oh, Mister Geralt,” a voice called and he turned to see the saddler - Pete - walk outside. He had draped a coat around himself in a rush, clearly not meant to be outside for long. The tip of his nose was red. He seemed to have a cold.

“Hello,” Geralt greeted and changed direction towards him. The man was a common sight at the Pankratz estate, seeing to the dozens of saddles, the many tacks and everything else you needed when you bred horses. His gaze wandered over the pale skin of the man, his bleary eyes. “You look - and I mean no offense - awful.”

Pete laughed, voice rough. “Ah, no offense taken. Kate got a fever last week and it seems she infected us all.”

Kate was Pete’s youngest daughter, ten years young, a cheerful girl that sometimes accompanied him. Alfred always allowed her to ride their smallest pony until Pete was finished with his tasks.

“I hope she’s alright?” Geralt asked and Pete off-handedly waved the question away.

“Amara saw to that,” he said and his grin was bright and grateful despite the obvious signs of illness. “Speaking of her, you’re going to your daily visit, yeah?”

Geralt nodded again. For a moment he was distracted as a mop of curly hair peeked through the front door and a small hand waved at him. Geralt blinked, then held back the laughter when Kate signed him with a finger on her mouth to not give her away. Pete seemed to not have noticed his daughter, because he rummaged through one of the pockets of his coat.

“See, our cough syrup’s gone empty and it would be really kind if you could drop another vial when you walk back. I have the -” Pete kept on speaking. Meanwhile Kate had taken two careful steps, then another - and then she jumped her father from behind. The man let out a breathless omph, coins falling into the snow as he automatically reached behind to steady the girl.

“Kate,” he sighed while giggles erupted like soap bubbles from the girl’s throat.

“You didn’t notice me and Mister Witcher didn’t say a word. Thank you,” Kate said, first addressing her father and then him, Geralt. Grinning, he lowered himself to pick up the coins that had fallen down, while Pete berated his daughter, who apparently wasn't allowed to stand up. Well, Geralt couldn’t say he didn’t understand. He had hated to be stuck in bed as well.

“I’ll get you the syrup.” His eyes darted to Kate who still clung to her father, eyes shining with glee - but unfortunately also tiredness. They were red-rimmed. “And you should stay in bed, get better, so you can ride Snowflake again.” Snowflake was the pony, completely white, hence the name.

“Meanie,” Kate harrumphed but slid back down, to stand on the ground. Pete however laughed, tousling up his daughter’s hair, who wormed herself away from the touch, petulant and too close to puberty to accept it just like that. How good Julien was years from such a behaviour. Geralt rather enjoyed having his child surprise close. But if he turned out like Kate… he shouldn’t worry too much.

“Listen to him, Kate, he knows a thing or two about horse riding.” Geralt hummed and turned to get back on his way. A hand lifted when a “Thank you, Geralt,” was called after him. Lettenhove surely was a special town.

* * *

“So, tell me, when will I be dying?” Geralt asked with as much somberity as he managed. His lip twitched, though, when Amara harrumphed at him, pressing onto one of his newly healed scars with more force then she needed to. The good thing was, thought, that it didn’t hurt anymore. Geralt knew he was fine, the care Amara showed him appreciated but now no more necessary.

“Probably when your big mouth gets the better of you,” she answered him and it made Geralt crack a smile. He had heard a lot in his relatively young witcher life, but never before that he had a big mouth.

Letting go of him, Geralt stood and his gaze took in the familiar interior of the sorceress’ apothecary. Attached to the walls, on stools and tables hung and stood and leaned pots of herbs. Some he knew well - rosemary, coriander, thyme, basil, chamomile, lavender - others not so much. Mandrake, wolfsbane, vervain. And some he had never seen before. He had asked about some of them during his visits here, but they hadn’t managed to cover all of them. He was sure some Amara wouldn’t willingly explain to anyone. When his gaze shifted back to the sorceress, he was grazed with amusement.

“You’re fully healed,” she simply said and despite himself Geralt released a breath of relief. Usually he took care of his wounds by himself but he knew it had been a close call and he was glad that Amara had saved his life. He was glad Alfred and Julia had such a capable healer at their side. As family.

Geralt hummed in response and for a while they enjoyed the silence between them. It was something Geralt was used to. The nights on the road could be long, the path usually was winding, steep and lonely and other than Roach he had no one to talk to. He embraced silence, because he knew it all too well.

Roach… it still stung to think she wouldn’t accompany him next spring. But there was nothing he could do and living here. It was a blessing for her. The other option, without the Pankratz estate, would have been... he refused to think about it.

“What are you thinking about, Geralt?” Amara asked him, her bright blue eyes watching him. They looked like ice, but soft. He knew ice to be sharp, piercing but despite it all Amara’s eyes were deep, understanding pools of ice-blue. She leaned with her elbows on the table, a cloth beside her and curls framing her face. She was beautiful and even though she was a sorceress and all sorceresses were beautiful… Geralt doubted she looked much different than before her ascending. Maybe that was what was so fascinating about her… her natural beauty, her soft soul despite everything that had happened to her.

“Hm,” he voiced - or didn’t - and tried to answer her question. What really was he thinking about? A lot of images and thoughts jumped through his head. He settled on the easiest one. One that wasn’t laced with the idea of fate and destiny.

“Roach.”

A sharp, bright laugh filled the room and Amara shook her head, while she straightened. “A witcher and his horse. A relationship I will never get and I’m related to Alfred Simon Pakratz, biggest horse addict I ever met.” Geralt’s lips twitched upwards. “You’re allowed to ride again, by the way. Can’t keep you from that any longer, I guess.”

He sighed and nodded, thankful.

“Roach will be fine, you know that?” Amara added and Geralt nodded again. Fingers flexing. Tightening, releasing again. An unconscious gesture.

“I know.” He did. He truly did know that, and it would hurt more, he realized, were it different. But it didn’t. Not anymore. He had a whole winter and another, when he came back next year. He only needed another -

“Alfred surely will be able to provide you with another companion,” Amara quipped as if she had read his mind. He turned to her, blinked and then saw her smirk.

“Oh, fuck you,” he huffed, reaching for his coat. The fur was soft under his fingers. This woman! What had she plotted?

“It wasn’t my idea,” she grinned, voice full of mirth and he slipped the coat on, not giving her the satisfaction of a reply. He turned to the door, janked it open. He was ready to go and find out what exactly this, his family had come up with.

“Don’t forget Pete’s cough syrup.”

And turned again to catch a relatively big vial with an orange liquid sloshing inside. He caught it and rolled his eyes.

“See you around, Amara,” he said and rather felt than saw the wave she gifted him, before he walked out into the cold. Sorceresses and their sense of humor. Nothing he would ever get, family or not.

* * *

“Alfred!” Geralt boomed when he had made it back to the estate. All the way he had wacked his brain about what the man had planned, but more than that he was probably gifted a horse didn’t come to mind. Which was entirely over the top, too. Alfred made a living with breeding and selling horses. They were his livelihood, he couldn’t just give one away for free. Well, he could, but Geralt wouldn’t accept it.

“Alfred Simon Pankratz, where the hell are you hiding?” he shouted again, letting his nose take over, while his feet carried him towards the stables. His scents had picked up the note of buttercups and dandelions over all the smells of horse, hay and grass. The brisk winter air helped.

Before he could open the door, it slid open and a figure appeared, looking nervous. Dave’s gaze flitted towards him, looking up and down. Instead of saying something, though, he hurried back inside. Smart boy.

“Alfred, Gerlt is pissed at you,” he called and Geralt followed the voice, not in the mood to correct what wasn’t a lie.

“Why would he?” another voice asked. Alfred appeared from one of the boxes when Geralt closed the stable door again to keep out the cold. Shrugging off his coat, he gazed at the man, squinting. A smirk appeared on Alfred’s face, happy and mischievous - so unlike anyone else. Most people would flinch in the face of an angry witcher. Not Alfred, though, who was a lot but definitely not like everyone else. Geralt growled.

“Oh, come on. You wouldn’t be mad at your very best friend for helping you.”

Raising an eyebrow, Geralt just harrumphed. He wouldn’t comment on the ridiculousness of it. He had every right to be mad at his… very best friend. By Melitele, he couldn’t even argue with _that_. His arms crossed.

“What have you planned?”

“And here I thought Amara had told you,” Alfred mused, but when he saw Geralt’s face he relented. Waving at Dave, the other boy scurried inside a box, vanishing out of eye-sight. “See, as you can’t ride Roach anymore next spring and I thought it would be good to get you another companion.”

Another growl rose deep inside his throat but Geralt suppressed it. “I gathered as much.” His arms were still crossed. “Can’t pay you. You’re too expensive,” he even added, grumbling.

It was true. Alfred’s prizes were exorbitant. He mostly sold his horses to courts and rightfully so. They were among the best breeds, very well behaved - broken in by himself each one of them - even though he had seen the man teaching Dave how to do it on more than one occasion. Alfred was, and Geralt had no problem admitting to it - probably the best rider he had ever met.

Instead of a proper reply Alfred just laughed. Out of the corner of his eyes Geralt saw how Dave lead a young mare out of the box he had vanished in. Her fur was a deep chocolate brown, she had white socks, except on her right front foot and beautiful intelligent eyes. Her head flicked up and down, but she followed willingly.

“I’m not giving her freely, Geralt. You have to work for it.” And what did that suppose to mean? He wondered, but didn’t ask. Mostly because Alfred just kept on talking, pointing at the horse as if introducing a Lady. “This is our beautiful Snowdrop, she’s four, your new companion and you have to break her in yourself. I will teach you how.”

Blinking, Geralt eyed the horse that looked at him, then snickered as if she was laughing and he crumbled. Oh, fuck, okay. Whatever. At least she wasn’t given freely. He had never been able to accept that. But training her, and have to prospect to even learn more about horse riding, even be able to help Alfred better. He could do that.

“Can I rename her Roach?”

“No!” both Alfred and Dave said at the exact same time. Another snicker sounded from the horse, who bumped her head against his chest, when Geralt came closer to pat her neck. He sighed, admitting defeat and pressed his nose into the mare’s warm neck.

Very best friend indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get a lot of writing done when you are in home office and should not go out.  
> Oh if you want to chat with me on tumblr please do, because I know I'm shit at replying to comments, but I will answer every ask and message on tumblr


	9. Snowdrop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest chapter I've written so far, and I feel it became sadder at the end than I wanted it to.  
> Also, I see all your reviews and I admire them. I love you. Thank you for all the positive feedback.

Light filtered through the dirty windows of the riding hall, illuminating it in a soft, diffuse shine. The sand underneath his boots crunched as he slowly turned around himself, holding a longe in one hand and a riding crop in the other. Snowdrop was making good progress under his training and Alfred’s watchful eye.

“Remember, you’re the one dictating the speed, not her,” Alfred reminded, from aside, standing behind a secure wooden railing, separating the riding area from spectators. His arms leaned on the wood, posture comfortable, while Geralt only managed to glance at him from out of the edge of his eyes before his concentration was back on his mare. He flicked his hand and Snowdrop followed his lead, slowing down.

“Very good,” Alfred complimented him. It made something warm pool in Geralt’s gut.

“Keep this pace for a moment, then push her into a short canter, before you go back to a trot. She needs to learn to trust you over her own instincts.”

Alfred’s voice echoed in his head, while he followed the instructions. He doubted it was good for any species out there to trust him over their own instincts. He was a witcher after all, his life was dangerous. He was dangerous. If an instinct told a creature - whatever they were. Horse, Human, something else - to flee, they were probably right. But here Alfred was, telling him that his decisions, his actions counted as something. Snowdrop started to galopp when he told her to.

_ “The relationship between a horse and their rider is based on trust, Geralt. It’s the fundament of everything we will train into her - and you. The moment she knows you have her best interest in mind is when you can rely on her. It’s a trust you have to built slowly and work hard for. But it will be worth it in the end, you will see. It will create an unbreakable bond.” _

With his amber eyes he followed the movements of the mare. Her mane whipped up and down, her eyes black and concentrated. A strong heartbeat pumped blood through her veins. It was as clear to Geralt’s senses as her breath. Brown ears flicked for a moment, her hooves hitting the ground. Sweat gleamed on her fur. She was a beauty. Strong and elegant and attentive. Leading her back into a trot, she followed easily. It hadn’t been like it in the beginning. In the beginning she had been afraid, unsure of what he wanted from her, sensing he was different from what she knew until now. But things had changed with every day of relentless training.

“Let's finish this up, Geralt,” he heard Alfred call and Geralt lead Snowdrop back into a walk. The way she breathed, the way her heart beat faster than usual, he sensed she was exhausted. She walked another round, before Geralt made her stop. When he came close to pat her neck, she nuzzled into him. A smile crept onto his face and he breathed her in.

“You did well, Snowdrop. What do you think? Can we start trying to ride? I would really like that.” His whispers were for his mare only and she snickered. “I take that as a yes.” A huff escaped her nostrils and she nudged him. Taking her by her halter, he lead her back towards the stable. He was soon joined by Alfred, who looked at him with pride in his eyes. It added up to the warm feeling inside of Geralt, his stomach doing things. Things he only experienced when he was here, in Lettenhove, with Alfred, Julia, Julian and the rest of the Pankratz household.

“You know, Geralt, if you ever want to retire from this witcher business of yours, you’re very welcome to working here. You’re a natural and Snowdrop loves you,” Alfred grinned, his emerald eyes shining. All Geralt could do was humm. Out of the edge of his eyes he peeked at his mare and his heart swelled. Maybe that was the whole secret about a relationship. To love and be loved in return. He didn’t really know. No one had ever told him how relationships worked. At least not in Kaer Morhen. The focus had more been on the surviving part, but here… here Geralt slowly started to learn. There wasn’t much not to love.

His eyes found Alfred’s profil, his soft features, the way brown strands fell into his face and his gaze turned soft.

* * *

“You reek of horse,” Julia harrumphed, when Geralt ran into her on his way inside. He had just finished brushing Snowdrop down, who now was back in her box. With one arm she held a laundry basket, on the other she balanced Julian, pressed close to her body. The boy was calm, or as calm as a one-year old could be. He raised an eyebrow at her comment.

“I’ll take a bath then,” was his answer and Julia nodded, turning around.

“Diana,” she called inside the house, then looked back at Geralt. “You better do, and take Alfred with you because I will not have him sit at the dinner table reeking of horse, as well.”

A small smirk appeared on Geralt’s face. She was such a demanding woman. He knew why Alfred had fallen for her. “Shall I invite Dave as well? We can make a big bathing party out of it. I’m sure he reeks of horse, too.”

“Oh, don’t sass me,” Julia pouted, while Julian, who had seemed occupied by playing with Julia’s hair, turned to his third guardian. His eyes were big and blue, matching the shirt he wore.

“Galt,” he mumbled, reaching out with his arms. Geralt let him grab his hand, small fingers tugging around his bigger ones. The pulling didn’t do much to Geralt, but he let the boy try, giving in just a little.

“I would never dare sass you.” His gaze swept over her figure, taking in the way she balanced both her son and the basket full of dirty clothing. “You need help?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied without thinking and then they both heard steps coming closer. Julia turned towards the sound, while Geralt didn’t have to. The curious face of Diana appeared in the hallway. Her strands bobbed a little with her steps.

“You called?” she asked and Julia nodded.

“Yes, get a bath ready, someone here reeks of horse and sass. At least one stench can be washed off.”

Diana chuckled and turned, ready to fulfil the order, but Geralt stopped her in her track.

“I can carry my own buckets, milady.” He purposefully didn’t look at Diana, but Julia who rolled her eyes at the title. She hated it. The gleam in her eyes, though, was indication enough of what she really thought. But today he didn’t care, instead staring back until Julia relented.

He knew he went easy on Diana, but he was a fucking witcher and she a fifteen year old. The idea that a sweet thing like her had to carry bucket after bucket so he could take a bath was revolting in his mind. She had to do it often enough when he wasn’t present. He could and would prepare his own bath.

Looking confused, Diana’s gaze wandered from Geralt to Julia and back to Geralt. It was so apparent, her head even turned back and forth. Clearly unsure what to do and whose lead to follow, she waited patiently for someone to say something. Geralt could sense her unease the more seconds passed and because Julia didn’t take the chance to speak up and protest, he just rolled with it.

“Diana, you can help Lady Pankratz,” and he really revelled in the furious look that was thrown at him, again. Mischief filled his gut. It was so easy to rile Julia up. She even muttered “I’ll gut you, witcher,” under her breath. It only made Geralt’s smirk grow. “with the laundry. I’m sure she needs it.”

His eyes flashed in amusement and to his delight, Diana plucked the basket out of Julia’s hands with ease. “Of course.” And off she went, a bounce to her step and rather fast. Probably to not get caught in the crossfire.

“Geralt,” Julia growled, but all Geralt did - because he could and because he still felt a deep pool of warmth in his belly from the training with Snowdrop - was to pluck Julian out of her arm. The boy laughed with delight, clutching at Geralt’s hair and babbling.

“Come on, little flower. We both take a bath, leave your mother in peace.”

Suddenly found with nothing to do anymore, Julia drew her arms up in frustration, while he made his way towards the bathroom. “And what am I supposed to do?” Julia called after him.

It was probably because he was way out of reach and had his back turned to her, that the words left his lips. But they did, and he could smell the dark, rich scent coming from Julia as he said them.

“How about taking a break? Read a book? Have sex with your husband? I’ve seen there’s fresh hay in the stables...”

Curse words cut the air, and Geralt chuckled at the image of Julia, with red, flushed cheeks and fingers clutching at nothing. Oh, Alfred would either be delighted or furious at him for riling his wife up.

* * *

Similar to Julia earlier, Geralt held Julian at his hips with one arm, while he carried water bucket after water bucket with the other. He had just poured the last one into the bathtub, when the door to the bathroom opened and a head with brown hair and a cheeky smile peeked inside. The figure of Alfred followed soon after, posture open and delighted. Geralt turned to him, eyebrow risen at the mischief in those familiar emerald eyes.

“I have to say, my dear friend, I adore your gall to propose to my wife to have sex with me,” Alfred chuckled. The door closed behind him and he placed a bundle of clothes on the nearby table. It were fresh clothes for both him and Julian.

“Hm,” Geralt responded, but the edges of his lips twitched dangerously telling. Of course Alfred recognized it.

“Not that those lousy twenty minutes you’d have given us were ever enough…”

At this, Geralt turned slightly to have a better look at the man, eyebrows drawn together. Oh. “Is that so?” he said, voice even. He had a vague idea that both Julia and Alfred could be very experimental in bed, but he really wanted to leave his imagination at that. A vague idea.

“You know if that’s your plan you can babysit -”

Alfred didn’t manage to finish his sentence because Julian decided it to be the moment to realize his father was close. “Baba,” he prattled, tiny fingers tugging at Geralt’s hair, one hand firmly clutched around his white strands, while the other reached for his father, head tilted towards Alfred.

“I’m here, buttercup,” Alfred murmured, taking Julian from Geralt’s arm. He appreciated it, if only to be able to get undressed for the actual bath now. He had placed another table next to the tub and a small basin on it, for the boy.

Reaching for the hem of his shirt, he lifted it over his head. With his ears he could make out how Alfred stepped closer. Water sloshed, and Geralt drew the dirty shirt into a corner. He would take care of his clothes later.

“By Melitele, Geralt, this water is freezing. You are aware of the concept of heating water for a bath, are you?” Alfred exclaimed, shaking his hand, flexing his fingers. There was a deep frown on his face and he looked at the tub as if it had betrayed him. Chuckling, Geralt formed  _ Igni  _ to heat up the cold well water. It started to steam instantly.

“I assume I am,” Geralt mused, while Alfred stuck his hand back into the water, almost purring at the heat.

“Now, that is a neat trick.”

Geralt repeated the procedure with the water in Julian’s smaller basin, careful with the temperature. He couldn’t warm it up as much as his own bath, it would be too hot for the child.

“Let’s get you undressed, little man,” Alfred said and placed Julian on the table, starting to open the buttons of his shirt. Julian squirmed under the touch, turning to look for Geralt until Geralt placed himself next to Alfred. His blue eyes shone in the dim light, so similar to his mothers. A happy squeal left his throat when he was placed in the water. Dripping water onto his hair, Geralt watched amused until Alfred waved at him and pointed at the bathtub.

“Get inside before it gets cold,” he demanded and Geralt followed the order, stripping the rest of his clothes quickly and sinking into the warm heat. His muscles relaxed instantly. Alfred threw the soap into his direction and Geralt caught it easily. It smelled of lavender.

“You know what I wondered for a while?” Alfred asked, hands never stopping to care for Julian, mostly messing with him by splashing water on his tummy. Geralt shook his head, humming and lathering his hair with the soap. “How much did they pay you for this kikimora nest that left you …” he made an undefined gesture with his hands, waving them up and about. Geralt understood though, good mood faltering even before Alfred finished his sentence. “... hurting.”

For a moment all that could he heard was Julian’s delighted laughter, then Geralt pushed himself to answer. Anyone else and he had just ignored the question, but with Alfred… it was an impossibility. He wondered when he had handed the man so much power over him.

“Nothing.” It sounded more like a rumble than an actual word. Alfred froze mid-movement, then he suddenly stood in front of Geralt, hands brazed on the rim of the bathtub, chest leaned forward. There was tension in his body.

“Excuse me?”

Geralt sighed and rubbed his face, water droplets running down his cheeks and nose.

“I don’t take any advanced payment. You should remember.” His voice was low, tired. “And I didn’t think about stopping in Openhove, bleeding and all.”

Watching Alfred, Geralt could see thousand emotions wash over his friend’s face. Confusion, anger, realization, sadness - he settled with indignation in the end. His scent even changed, becoming darker, musky. Geralt wanted to wash it away, bring back the smell of buttercups and dandelions. Gulping, he waited.

“You’re here for weeks. You easily could have gotten there, claim your money like you rightfully deserve and come back. We could have sent an errand boy - by the gods, Geralt I am a viscount and while I don’t often use my title to my advantage it holds weight. Openhove falls under my jurisdiction, even. A sealed letter and they wouldn’t even think twice -” he took a deep breath as if to calm himself. He couldn’t tell if it worked. Geralt knew this wasn’t finished. “But no, no you didn’t even think about it, did you? Because… why, actually? Because you think you don’t deserve your payment? It’s your job, your livelihood. You have any right to claim the money that belongs to you. Or is it because… I don’t even know why you would forgo your payment, seriously Geralt. You should take payment in advance, at least a little.”

“No!”

His answer was resolut, even though his heart thumped in his chest caused by Alfred’s rant. The man usually was calm - and while he wasn’t quiet, never quiet, he wasn’t easily angered. But here he exploded with it, in behalf of Geralt. And it was a feeling Geralt wasn’t used to. In all his life he had never experienced how it felt like to have someone else defend him. Or, well, what actually had happened here? To talk sense into him?

“Why?” Alfred asked, emerald eyes focused on his, holding his gaze, not letting go of this… whatever it was. Slumping a bit further into the water, Geralt broke the eye contact to look at the ceiling. White hair floated around his chin. This was all too much for him. But he learned, slowly.

“I never know if I survive a monster hunt,” Geralt spoke, honesty in his voice. It was easier to be honest, when he wasn’t seeing the concern on Alfred’s face. “One day I won’t. One day I will die, one way or another and no money will save me. But those people can use the coin to pay another witcher who hopefully can finish the job I couldn’t. I don’t rid anyone of their small chance of survival.”

Slowly he tilted his head back and when he looked at Alfred, again, the man bit his lip. It was strange to watch him open his mouth without words coming out. Alfred always knew what to say, how to answer, how to worm his way inside one’s heart with his charm. The man’s adam’s apple bobbed, then he spoke. His voice wavered slightly.

“You know, I wished people would stop portraying you as a heartless monster. I…,” he murmured, then shook his head. “Nevermind.”

Smiling, Geralt had a feeling what the other wanted to say, without needing to say it. His heart swelled. But that melancholic look, that didn’t do. It felt misplaced on a person like Alfred. Especially when nothing really had happened. Of course he hadn’t gotten his money, but Geralt didn’t care. He knew he would have, had he gone back. It was a difference if people willingly didn’t want to pay him or couldn’t. For now, being here, was enough. He wanted his friend to see it, too. So he acted out of instinct, hand vanishing under the water, before...

He splashed some water in Alfred’s direction, the splash landing on his face and shirt. Alfred let out a shocked yelp, while Julian made a mess by mirroring Geralt, patting the surface of the water, laughing delightedly.

“You said something about babysitting,” Geralt mused, when Alfred leaped at him, hands in the water, forming a bowl. A splash hit him square in the face. He reached out, grabbed Alfred at his upper arms.

“Yes, I did, you fie- aah, no - Geralt,” and then the other man landed in the tub with Geralt, who had simply dragged him over the rim - fully dressed, silken shirt now clinging to his body. He sputtered water, emerging, wet from the tips of his hair to the end of his toes. He looked like a drowned kitten.

“Julia said you need a bath, as well.”

* * *

Time flew, as it always did when times were good. The training with Snowdrop had went so smoothly that by the time the first actual snowdrops showed their faces, Geralt knew he could ride her safely and be ready to be back on the path. It was a bittersweet feeling, to leave Lettenhove. But one day after a ride outside, trotting through patches of grass and snow, Geralt knew he had to leave. As he brushed Snowdrop down, she nudged his side and he pressed his face into her neck. Her scent filled his nose.

“Ready to leave? Because I think we must go.”

Snowdrop neighed and he could hear her heart beat, steady and strong. The next morning he left, leaving rooftops and cobblestone, then meadows and fields behind, as well as his most dearest people on the continent. He would see them again next winter. Because even though Alfred had offered him to stay - just stay in Lettenhove - he knew he couldn’t. A witcher wasn’t made to retire. Even though he wished they were.


	10. brotherhood

It was almost autumn, the leaves turning yellow, orange and red all around him. If he ever had to pick a favourite season it probably was autumn. Not yet cold, but not hot, with plenty of food to find in the woods and people more willing to pay him, because the summer had left them enough coin. Geralt looked around, letting Snowdrop walk the path in front of him slowly. He was on his way into a small village. Rumors of a Griffin had made their way to his ears and he hoped to fill his dreadingly empty purse. Needing to buy a new dagger and repair his amor had left him penniless.

Temeria was vast. He knew he was somewhere close to Brugge, but that was that. After this contract he would slowly make his way back up north. Winter was close and he wanted to be on time this year. Without any injuries.

A small smile stole itself onto his face, but he hid it behind a stoic mask, when he reached the first houses. These people didn’t need to see it, it wasn’t for them. Especially not when it could make them think he was weak and not fit to slay that Griffin.

The houses were small, mostly, nothing compared to the houses of big cities like Novigrad or Oxenfurt, but to be honest Geralt preferred it this way. With ease he found the local inn, tying Snowdrop to a post in front of it. He would come get her and place her in a stable when he had found out more about the contract.

It was silent inside the inn. It was too early for most of the people, only a few patrons could be seen. But the few people that were inside eyed him from behind their cups of ale. Strange, it was more curiosity than weariness. With ease Geralt reached the counter. The small eyes of the innkeeper looked him up and down. They rested on his medaillon for a moment too long, before looking back into his eyes.

“No witcher coming here for years, and now we even get two. Strange world,” he grunted, then added, “What can I get you, mister?”

Geralt blinked, processing the words but kept his face neutral. Wait, what?

“You have a Griffin problem?” he replied, calmly and the innkeeper laughed. It was short-breathed and dry.

“Yeah, it’s taken care of by one of your kind. No need for another one. Means, if the other comes back. But he looked like he can handle himself. Better than you,” was replied and again the innkeeper’s eyes gazed at his form, taking in his body, his face. What was he looking for? Scars? Geralt had many, mostly invisible under his armor. Not that scars were an indicator for strength. And shouldn’t their absence rather be one?

Geralt ignored the insult and reached inside his pocket, finding the last few coins he had. He didn’t wish death on any witcher, they were less enough as it was. He’d rather pass on a contract, stay empty of coin and know one of his kind was safe. Placing a crown on the counter top, he tipped his head towards the side.

“An ale.” He paused then. “When is this other witcher about to come back?”

The innkeeper took the coin, turned around and reached for a tankard. “Said today. Left yesterday.” Geralt only hummed and reached for the now full tankard that was placed in front of him. He smelled its content before he took a sip. Not good, but also not bad. It would do. He decided to wait. See who this other witcher was… if he came back. If not, Geralt would make sure to find him. He couldn’t let a witcher lay forgotten in an unknown forest, left to his own devices, probably injured and about to die. Humans didn’t come for their rescue, so at least witchers should. Whatever the school. Whatever the cost. No witcher should ever be a meal for ghouls.

He wanted to make his way to a table, but turned back one last time, remembering something. “Is there a stable I can use?”

* * *

Geralt had passed the time by taking care of Snowdrop, sneaking her an apple and releasing her of her saddle. By pressing a coin into the stable boy’s hand, he made sure the boy kept an eye on his things, while he took his mare out to a nearby field. He hadn’t stopped her training just because he was on the path. Instead Geralt had used every chance he could get to work with Snowdrop, get her used to unexpected frights like sudden loud noises or movements. He also worked on her understanding the slightest signals from him. They had improved a lot. When he lead her back towards the stables she was sweaty, exhausted and happy. The sun was almost setting.

“That is a pretty horse you have, mister,” the stable boy murmured, when Geralt brushed Snowdrop down and placed a blanket over her back. Patting his mare on the neck, he said goodbye and promised to be back in the morning. Then he turned towards the boy, who watched him with big, brown eyes. He couldn’t be older than sixteen.

“Hm,” Geralt replied, not willing to say anymore. He didn’t need to.

“I watched you train her, during my break. I want be able to do so, too, one day.”

The honesty in his voice was a surprise and something soft filled Geralt’s stomach. He smiled. “Find someone who can teach you, then. I’m sure you’ll be good.”

He would, because he respected the animals. Geralt saw it in the way he moved and watched Snowdrop and the one other horse that was inside the stable. The world needed more people like this boy. The way people cared for animals reflected how they cared for their fellow humans. Maybe even non-humans, as well. Only time would tell. Not that Geralt would know.

Without waiting for a reply, he shouldered his saddlebags and made his way back to the inn. It had become late and Geralt hoped the other witcher was back. Also he needed to see if there was a room. Not that he had much coin left to pay for it. But it was a worry for later.

* * *

Rambunctious laughter and conversations greeted him even before Geralt opened the door to the inn. There were a lot more people inside than there had been this midday. Not that it was any surprise. Smells of ale and meat and sweat filled the sticky air inside and Geralt let the door fall closed behind him with a click. Looking around he examined the faces, but it was something else that hit him. It was the familiar scent of mountains, of snow and forest mixed with just a little hint of blood, it made his heart squeeze in his chest. Beginning to walk, he sped up until he stood in front of a familiar figure, sitting alone in the corner of the inn. Amber eyes, so much like his own, found his, seemed to gleam - then he let his saddlebags fall onto the floor before arms wrapped around his frame. Burying his nose into the other man’s neck, Geralt smelled the familiar scent of his mountain home.

“Eskel,” Geralt whispered and placed his forehead against his brother’s. They watched each other out of hooded eyes, taking in each other’s heartbeats - ignoring the whispers and stares of the other guests. It was three years ago since Geralt had last seen the other. He couldn’t care less for some random human’s opinions right now.

“Geralt,” Eskel replied and out of instinct Geralt traced the scar on the other’s face, from his eye towards his lips… and then he kissed him.

* * *

The two bowls of stew in front of them were empty and Geralt sat comfortably next to his brother, knees touching, hands on his tankard. They hadn't spoken much, nothing meaningful at least. Geralt had asked about the Griffin, about the wounds he knew Eskel had even if the other played them down. Geralt could smell the blood but he could also feel that his brother wasn’t in too much pain or else he would have forced him to let him look at them. It could wait. This comfortable silence between them was more important.

It didn’t last long - not long enough at least for Geralt, because after a while Eskel turned to look at him, something in his eyes and Geralt knew the real talk would begin. He braced himself, not knowing why.

“We missed you the last few winters,” he spoke and Geralt gulped down the lump in his throat. When he had taken Alfred’s invitation to stay for winter he had talked himself into believing no one would notice his absence at Kaer Morhen. They may not care - not enough, but they noticed. “Thought you kicked the bucket.”

A grin plastered on Geralt’s face and he tilted his head to be able to have a better look at Eskel’s expressions. Something gleamed in his eyes but Geralt couldn’t decipher it. Maybe it was just teasing. He hoped for it to be. “Not quite there yet, sorry.”

“I’m not,” Eskel replied and there it was, the silent question. For a moment Geralt’s heart ached and his mind placed words on his tongue. Words that were nothing but lies, to keep Alfred and Julia and Julian to himself. A possessiveness he hadn’t know before pierced his insides, but he fought it down. This was Eskel!

“I stayed in a small town in Redania, with… friends,” Geralt said quietly, after a moment. He couldn’t continue looking at Eskel’s widened eyes, his stunned face. Turning slightly, he watched the innkeeper clean tankards. It was easier this way. “They invited me in, asked me to stay for the winter. I couldn’t refuse.” His eyes flew back to Eskel and he hated to see a flicker of weariness on his brother’s face. He didn’t understand, but how could he?

“Why?” was all Eskel asked and it was the sincerity in his voice that made Geralt keep on speaking. He couldn’t lie to Eskel. Never had been able to.

“They feel like family.”

Eskel’s scent changed and with a pang Geralt realized it was hurt he smelled. The acrid smell of disappointment. Reaching for the other’s hand, Geralt entangled their fingers and squeezed. Made Eskel look at him, forced him with the gesture alone to not stray, to let their barely there emotions betray them. He knew Eskel. Knew him intimately. Sometimes too intimately, Geralt thought. His chest constricted. Something inside him still ached.

“It doesn’t mean I forgot you! I could never.”

The sincerity must be visible somehow, maybe in his face, or in the tone of his voice, maybe in his scent. Geralt didn’t know, but he felt something shift in Eskel’s stance and the acrid smell vanished. His heart felt lighter.

“Tell me about them, then,” Eskel demanded, fingers squeezing his and Geralt couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He hadn’t had the chance to talk about the Pankratz’ family yet, but oh he wanted to. He wanted to tell Eskel all about Alfred’s constant humming and his gentle eyes, about Julia’s quick wit and her soft hands, about Julian growing and about Amara’s quips. How good Illona’s minced-meat pie tasted, how Diana had once placed dried lavender under his pillow when she had found out that he hadn’t been able to sleep and how Dave’s skills in wielding the dagger trieved under his watchful eye. He wanted to tell him all of it and more. Carve this out into stone and place it at Eskel’s feet so he would understand. So he would agree.

“All night long, if you want,” Geralt replied and Eskel sighed, releasing his grip from his hand, rubbing his face. Suddenly there was wearniess again.

“You really do like them,” he murmured and Geralt wished to know why the statement sounded sad. But before he could ask, Eskel continued. “Don’t get hurt. Please!” It sounded like a plea, almost begging. Geralt’s heart seized painfully and he couldn’t reply, but it seemed Eskel didn’t need him to. Instead he stood and pulled Geralt with him. As soon as their hands touched again, some of the tension left Geralt.

“Come,” he said, “I have a room. If you’re here at least let us be  _ here _ .”

Geralt went willingly, followed the soft pull that tugged him forward and away from thoughts he didn’t understand. Hurt - why would Alfred or anyone of the Pankratz’ family hurt him? They would never, he knew that. Knew it deep down inside of what was left of his soul. He shook his head, reached for his saddlebags and followed Eskel. Watched him walk, saw his body move, the way his hair swayed when he turned his head to see if Geralt was coming. The broadness of his shoulders, swaying hips. Hands that could hold, please… This - brotherhood - this, Geralt understood. Tonight it was all that mattered.

* * *

He didn’t return to Kaer Morhen this winter, but he had promised Eskel he would the next year. If family was important, all family was and Kaer Morhen had been the home of his childhood, or what he remembered of it. Not always with happy memories and definitely not always without pain, but it had been a safe place for a lot of years. He knew when he explained it to Alfred, the man would understand. Probably better than he himself.

Snow hadn’t fallen, but the air was brisk and cold, when he rode with Snowdrop along the familiar path, left the forest behind to see meadows and fields and then the roofs of the town of Lettenhove. His heart soared in his chest.

“We’re home, girl,” he murmured into the fur of his mare, leaning forward for just a moment. Eskel’s amber eyes appeared in his mind, how they had watched his chest rise and fall with each breath, with each word, with each stroke of their hands. One day he would take his brother with him, show him what he couldn’t describe in words. “We’re home.”

The estate appeared in the distance, Dave leading a small chestnut inside the stables. Geralt couldn’t make out what kind of horse exactly it was, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Dave turned, as if to look at him. The smile on his face was a palpable thing. When Geralt arrived the boy had already vanished, but not for long. With a grin, he stormed back outside, throwing himself against Geralt’s chest. “You’re here. Geralt, gosh you just missed it by two months. But, you will love her!”

Blinking, Geralt tried to make sense of the words and simultaneously take in how much Dave had grown. He was seventeen, no eighteen, now, had muscles were there hadn’t been before, more defined, his hair was longer, slightly darker but that could be due to the winter and it was still very much blond. He looked … older. More mature. Soon he would be an adult an no more teenager.

“Who is her?” he asked when the door opened. Turning, he watched Alfred walk out, hand holding Julian’s smaller one. By Melitele, could Julian really walk like this now? He had grown so much. But the bigger surprise was Julia, appearing behind her husband. She looked tired, with circles under her eyes and a bundle in her hand. The smell hit him, another scent of a fourth person. A tiny person, scent not yet defined, in Julia’s arms. So close to what Julian had been nearly two years ago.

“Hello Geralt, come meet Eliza, our daughter” Alfred grinned and all Geralt could do was mirror the grin. He wished Eskel could see this. This much happiness. This much joy. His horse estate home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, meet my new introduction: Eskel, Geralt's voice of reason.
> 
> I have no idea what is canon and whatnot. I have no idea about timeline. I wonder what eye color he will have in the series. The wiki for the book says amber, so I went with it. I have no idea when he got his scars... or when Kaer Morhen was attacked. But i say: It happened earlier than this timeline.
> 
> But in the end it's my fanfic so I make the rules, right?
> 
> (Also, warning: advertising: I wrote a Geralt/Jaskier fic called "shards shatter in silence", so if you have some time on your hands go read :) )


	11. family tree

“So, when did she happen?” Geralt asked, a shit-eating grin on his face, while he watched Julia dress Eliza with swift and steady hands. It hadn’t looked so neat when she had to do the same with Julian, but he realized that even parenting was a skill to be learned. To be learned and getting better at with time.

He was in Lettenhove for five days now, rested, content and happy to be off the road. Julian’s birthday was in a weeks time and Geralt looked forward to it. He had been early, this year. Even a witcher could learn from his mistake and he didn’t want to repeat his last year’s entrance… ever again. While in the end he had been alright and he knew eventually a day would come that a monster took his head one way or another, he hoped to spare Alfred and the rest the heartache. In fact it was something he tried not to think about. They had many years together. He would keep himself safe to make it so. He knew how much they feared for his life.

His gaze rested on the small girl, lying on a dressing table, feet in the air. She made blubbering noises, her eyes as blue as Julia’s. A trait she had gifted her children and they were beautiful, just as their mother was. Few hair grew on Eliza’s head, but Geralt could already guess she’d have the same brown as her mother.

“Since when are you so nosy?” Julia remarked, mirroring his grin. Yet, it couldn’t affect Geralt. He could do his math.

“Since you got pregnant again. While I was visiting. And you didn’t tell me.”

Red rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t deter from looking at him. Without giving it much of her mind, she finished buttoning Eliza’s rompers and lifted the baby into her arms. Then she turned fully towards him. “We hadn’t known then. Amara pointed it out a few weeks later. I just didn’t realize…”

She didn’t finish her sentence but Geralt had some idea what she meant. He was a witcher and a man, yes, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew about a woman’s biology. Not into too much detail, but enough to know that a woman usually realized she was pregnant by not bleeding. He had lived in Lettenhove long enough to know Julia preferred to stay in bed the first day of her period, because of cramps - and Diana’s lower back was hurting when she got hers. Also, he could smell the faint scent of blood. It was his witcher’s nose. Thinking of it… he could have guessed himself. Julia hadn’t had her period the last months, before he left.

“It wasn’t planned?” Geralt asked, surprised. He remembered all too well how happy Julia had been when she had found out she was pregnant with Julian. Her joy would always remind him of that day in the woods. Her words still echoed through his head.  _ “I have to say, I’m rather glad to know my child will be protected by a fierce witcher. What better could there be?” _

Geralt had doubted it, had doubted a lot. Especially Destiny’s sense of humor. But here he was and Julia had been right, in a way, after all.

“I didn’t think I’d be so lucky to get pregnant, again.”

Blinking, Geralt studied Julia’s expressions. There was sincerity in her words, even though they confused him. She seemed to pick up his puzzlement, however, because she elaborated, shifting Eliza in her arms.

“We tried three years, before I got pregnant with Julian. Amara always told me I’m healthy and should easily conceive, but I didn’t. I gave up, after two years of the most ridiculous methods. Do you have any idea how many rumors of how to get pregnant the continent is filled with? Dancing naked under a full moon. Sleeping with lavender under your pillow. Eating raw pig liver.”

“You didn’t try that, did you?,” Geralt interrupted her, eyes narrowed and stomach turning just thinking of Julia eating anything raw. Not her, not this wonderful, clever woman.

She chuckled, something in her eyes, like a memory, flashed behind them.

“No. I stood in front of the butcher’s shop and decided that would be the day to stop all the excessive trying and just enjoy myself and Alfred again. Best thing I ever did.”

A smile slipped on Geralt’s face. It was unbidden and happy. He was happy for her, for them. For himself in a way. Because he knew their life was richer with Julian in it. Richer with Eliza. Richer with him, hopefully. At least he was pretty sure that sex was best without pressure or presumptions. Without force. Not that he could talk, he usually paid for sex. Except… his thoughts returned from a scarred face back to Julia, when she continued speaking.

“So, when I got pregnant I believed it to be a one time event.” She looked at him, her clever blue eyes fixing his amber gaze. “I admit I even thought that maybe it was so you could claim the Law of Surprise and I’m happier for it. I really am.” Her voice was soft and Geralt believed her. Though he was glad that Eliza, wonderful small Eliza in Julia’s arms, proved her theory false. Their happiness shouldn’t depend on him.

Smirking, he tilted his head and brushed softly over Eliza’s forehead. “I promise she is all yours. No second father this time.” But of course Julia only laughed. With ease she shifted the girl in her arm and held her out for Geralt to take. He reacted more out of instinct than anything else. The weight of a baby felt familiar… and yes, parenting really was a skill to be learnt.

“Oh no, my dear. You are family and Law of Surprise or not, face that you have another child now. It was your fault, anyway. You were babysitting.” The last words were spoken with a giggle, falling from Julia’s mouth like pearls from a shell.

Her joy seeped into Geralt’s bones while he looked down into the face of another Pankratz member. Blue eyes looked back and then Eliza laughed. The sound bubbled up to him, into his body and settled deep in his bones. Ah fuck. Of course Julia would be right.

“Hmm.”

* * *

“Mine. Mine, mine, mine. Gimme…” Julian squealed, jumping up and down in Geralt’s lap, trying to get the package he held slightly too high for the boy to reach. “G’alt. Gimme. Mine.”

With a laugh Geralt lowered his arm and then small hands grabbed the gift, pulling. For a moment Julian just cradled the small package in his arms, then he flopped down, sitting, and ripped the paper away. His eyes were big and triumphant when he held his present in his hands.

“Is that a flute?” Alfred asked. When Geralt looked at him he saw his friend’s brow was furrowed.

“It is,” Geralt affirmed and a small grin slipped on his face, when he saw Alfred’s face fall.

“Are you nuts? As if he isn’t loud enough.” And just to prove the point, Julian seemed to realize that he had to blow into the instrument. The noise that it made was loud and false and bordering on painful, as it rung in Geralt’s ears. Oh gods, maybe he should have thought of his own heightened senses when he carved it, during lonely evenings in the woods. On cue Eliza started to wail and Julia rocked her back to a calm state. Sitting at the table Dave barely held back a laugh.

“I think he’s pretty good for his age,” the boy said. “Can’t expect him to get it right on the first try.”

Alfred rolled his eyes at his stable hand but didn’t respond. Meanwhile Geralt’s focus was back on Julian, whose eyes had been wide, shocked. The boy surely hadn’t expected that loud noise, when he tried his new gift. His blue eyes looked at Geralt, demanding an explanation without even saying something. Guiding the flute, still in Julian’s hand, back to his child’s mouth, he whispered. “Softly, buttercup. Easy.”

Down in his lap, so close to his stomach, Geralt could feel Julian breath in. Then he exhaled into the flute. Only air escaped, no sound. Again Julian looked at Geralt, disappointed that it hadn’t worked. But he knew his child surprise was stronger than this. Braver, determined. “Try again, a little harder,” he encouraged and picked the flute up that Julian had dropped. The boy took it, inhaled, put his lips on the mouthpiece and looked again at Geralt. He simply nodded and this time when Julian blew a soft tone rung through the room. It wasn’t on point, no defined note yet, but it was clear and surprisingly good.

“Oh?” Diana murmured and then hummed. It was in tune with what Julian had procured. “He’s a musician.”

“Good? G’alt?” Julian asked when he was out of breath and had to stop. With a smile Geralt ruffled his hair. Maybe Diana was right. After all Alfred was constantly humming and singing. Wouldn’t it be natural for Julian to have picked up music? Who knew, he had years to find out what he enjoyed and what not.

“Very good.”

With a little shout of joy, Julian pressed the flute to his chest and laughed. Then he looked around, eyes focusing on another box that magically - or at least magically for Julian - appeared in front of him. His arms outstretched, he grabbed it from Illona’s hand. “Mine? Thank you, Illa.”

Before anyone could reply, he had already started to unpack. The squeal and joy in his face when he saw his favourite sweat made everyone laugh. For a moment the flute was forgotten, but Geralt knew all those hours carving and testing the harmony wasn’t in vain. It would be used and if only for Julian to find out whether he liked it or not.

* * *

Geralt loved Snowdrop with all his heart and still trained with her, now again under Alfred’s watchful eye. While he was aware that horses were smart, he hadn’t know what all you could teach them. There was a lot. It was more than he had ever imagined. By now Snowdrop was relatively fearless facing monsters. She didn’t budge when hearing loud noises and quick movements didn’t startle her. But Alfred told him it was just the beginning of what a horse could do.

“She can help pick you up, when you’re wounded. You can train her to get out of a dangerous situation without attracting the danger. Geralt, you can even train her to help you fight,” he had calmly explained and promised to show him how to train it into his mare. In all his witcher life, even back at Kaer Morhen, no one had ever told him what Alfred did. He hadn’t thought of it even, until now, but pondering the realization, he wondered why not every witcher used a horse as a traveling companion.

Well, maybe because a lot of the other witchers weren’t good with animals. But some were and he promised himself he would show at least Eskel and maybe Lambert what he had learnt. Next winter he would. It reminded him of his brief meeting with Eskel and his heart ached a little at the memory. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his brothers until he was faced with it.

Sighing he leaned into Roach’s flank, who he still visited when he needed to think or just to have a moment for himself. Her scent filled his nose and he closed his eyes to listen to her strong heartbeat. She was well, here. Alfred had told him he even trained with her, as much as he could with her injury. He loved Snowdrop, but Roach was Roach and he loved her as well. Always had.

Again he inhaled and let her scent calm his mind. The memory of Eskel faded - not forgotten, never forgotten, but replaced by calmness. He hadn’t talked with Alfred yet, about next winter and he didn’t know why the idea of that conversation made him anxious. Alfred would understand, he knew that. But maybe that was the problem? Which man was so understanding of a witcher? When would come the point that Alfred broke? Because surely no one could be that good - noble - as Alfred was? Starting to stroke Roach down, Geralt tried to push all the swirling in his mind away, let the monotonous repetition of brushing fur calm him.

He knew that Alfred would never be not understanding or kind. It was as if the man’s soul was made of sunshine and airyness. It was that back in Kaer Morhen, when he would be faced with Vesemir and Lambert - especially Vesemir - he had to explain his bond with the Pankratz family and he knew he couldn’t other than with emotions… and Witchers weren’t supposed to feel. Only he did. Always had.

Eskel understood that, in a way. Always had. Always would. But the rest? His heart ached, and again he didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Vesemir didn’t know him. He did. Had raised him. Vesemir had trained him and had watched everyone fail to beat the emotions out of him. He tried not to care but he did and he found a lot of himself in it.

“The world, Roach,” he murmured, while the mare nipped at his shirt, “is way too fucking complicated. I never really knew how to fit in.”

Even under his own kind, he was different. Always had been. Always would be.

* * *

Placing the brush back to its supposed place, a cupboard of sorts at the end of the stable, Geralt heard some laughter from the haystack. Again. The voices were familiar and breathy, and under all the scents of the stable Geralt could make out the ones of Dave and Diana. They smelled of bread and horse, of sweat and hay, of arousal and happiness. Shaking his head in amusement, Geralt decided to leave Roach’s box as it was and not fresh up her hay. Dave would do that later, when he was done doing… well, when they were done.

Walking outside, he met Alfred, who seemed to want to go inside the stables, just as Geralt was walking out. Their eyes met and Alfred stopped in his tracks, hands in the pockets of his trousers. His eyebrow rose.

“Do I want to go in there?” Alfred asked and Geralt smirked.

“In twenty minutes, maybe?”

As a response Alfred groaned mock-indignantly, but amusement shimmered in his emerald eyes. So he was well aware of the nature of Diana’s and Dave’s relationship. He wondered when exactly it had developed to intimacy, but he wasn’t surprised. They had always loved each other. Would Dave want to stop his dagger training, now that he had finally impressed Diana enough, Geralt wondered? Probably not. The boy had been showing talent and seemed to like the training. He would make himself known to Geralt, one way or another.

“Does Julia know?” Geralt asked after a moment and Alfred nodded. Grinned.

“Of course she knows, she’s Julia. She knows everything,” Alfred said and then rubbed his hands up and down his arms, warming himself. The air had gotten colder and colder, with every passing day, even though no snow had fallen yet. Geralt didn’t feel the briskness as much as human’s did but he could see his own breath turn white when he spoke, so he knew it was cold. “She made her see Amara, get some herbs. I’m pretty sure that was before they both started to use the haystack so repeatedly. Which I’m grateful for, I have to say. Amara has her hands full with unwanted pregnancies.”

“Is that why she wasn’t here for Julian’s birthday?” Geralt asked and lead Alfred back to the main entrance.

“No,” Alfred replied and his expression grew solem. “My dear cousin called.”

It took a moment for Geralt to connect the dots. “What has your cousin to do with - oh.” Opening the door, he watched his friend reach for a coat to slip it on. Just like the coat his thoughts fell into place. “The king of Redania is your cousin?”

The silence that followed was enough of an answer. Reaching for his own coat, more out of habit than actually needing it, Geralt held open the door and nodded towards the outside. “Let's take a walk.”

They walked in silence, passing the stables and a paddock, before they reached the many meadows that belonged to the estate. Here, behind the main house, were the lands the horses stayed in most of the warmer months. Plenty of grass and a small streak provided to their needs. By now, though, most of the horses were inside. When they reached an orchard, trees over trees, having lost most of their leaves already, the silence was broken. It was a peaceful patch of land, providing shade in the summer, fruit in fall - and a place to walk through without prying eyes in the winter.

“I knew that you were related to the Redanian court, but...” Geralt picked up the conversation from earlier and Alfred sighed. Rubbed his hands warm.

“My mother was an accident, much younger than the rest of her siblings. Being raised in court is…” Alfred obviously searched for words, trying to express himself. But his face, the hard lines around his mouth said everything he couldn’t with words. “...defined by rules. A lot of them. They were lax on her, because the line was already secured when she was born. It is, still, I mean I am what… fourteenth or so in line. I’m actually glad. Amara told me enough to know I never want to be king and will never let my kids go through that hell.”

With intent Geralt watched the lines around Alfred’s mouth, his eyes. He was drawn by their emerald color, by the honesty in his words, by this enigma before him that prefered breeding horses over ruling a country. In a way, Geralt understood him perfectly. In another, not at all. He preferred the first option. He preferred the man that chose who he wanted to be.

“It seems you don’t have to,” Geralt replied. Alfred snorted.

“They have to fight me over it. I made that clear years ago. I wished I only had enough power to let them leave Amara in peace.” His voice was bitter and Geralt pushed closer into his space. Alfred eyed him from out of the corners of his eyes, elbows bumping into Geralt’s side. Geralt didn’t reply, but didn’t need to.

“They always call her at a random, demanding her to help sort ruffles with other kingdoms, using her powers even though they denounced her for being a sorceress. She is his sister, but Radovid treats her like a servant. She should tell him to fuck off and be done with him. But she feels… I have no idea. Indebted? A sort of patriotic duty? Family bonds?”

Or, Geralt though suddenly, the need to protect Alfred, Julia and her family. To lead scorching eyes away from Lettenhove, where her happiness lied. It would be so much more like Amara than all the other possibilities Alfred had guessed. Because while Alfred may be fourteenth in line, he still had rights and could take a claim. Could be seen as a threat. It was no thought Geralt would speak out loud. Not here, not now. But he knew… he knew he was right. Instead he reached for Alfred’s elbow and stopped him in his rambling. Pulled him even closer.

“She is a powerful sorceress, she’s strong and can take care of herself. But if you want I will talk to her. Teach her how to tell people to fuck off. I was told I’m very good at that,” Geralt murmured, smirked. For a moment Alfred stared at him. Then the man started to laugh and a moment later arms wrapped around his neck. The hug was brief but shock Geralt to the core. Because it was also honest and kind and everything a witcher lacked in his daily life.

“Yeah,” Alfred got out, through his laughter, “I’m sure you are.” It sounded like a thank you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard to write but very important... at least if feels like it.  
> Also I have no idea about horses but this tumblr post was amazing: https://longingandheartacheandlust.tumblr.com/post/615046672418045952/roach-is-a-hereditary-title  
> I based my training description for Snowdrop on it. Geralt is a horse girl and we all know it.
> 
> Oh and I also have no idea about kids and I hope Julian's reactions is adequat for his age. He's a very cute two year old.
> 
> Also I forgot to say: I love you guys and I am SO glad you liked me adding Eskel to the story. I kind of like him, even though I only started reading the books and have only so much to go by.


	12. fillingless pie

A deep rumble in his stomach told Geralt that he wouldn’t survive till dinner. Well, of course he would survive, he was a witcher. He could go days without food, but the good thing was, when he wintered in Lettenhove he didn’t have to. In the beginnings of his first winter he had found himself reluctant to grab a bite outside of the mealtimes. The Pankratz’ provided so much for him without wanting anything in return, he had felt guilty. But then one day he had slipped inside the kitchen, to get himself some water and had found Illona make a bread. A simple task, actually, but not for Geralt who knew how to hunt a deer, but not how to bake. It had led to a lot of cooking lessons, which Geralt had found a useful skill in the coming years. His meals definitely tasted better ever since.

Knocking on the door frame of the kitchen, he made himself known to the cook, who turned from the working station towards him. Illona’s smile was a wonderful thing. Like everyone in this house, she didn’t fear him and that inself was a marvelous feeling.

“Geralt, dear, come in, grab a bite,” Illona said and turned back to what Geralt now realized was a pie. Her thumbs pressed into the edges of the dough, smoothing it out.

“How’s it, that you always make me feel young,” he asked and reached for a cutting board, some bread and cheese. By now he knew where everything was. He had spend a lot of time inside this kitchen. It was a wide room, with a working station in the middle of it and the hearth, oven and cupboards at the side. Everything was dark wood, clean spaces - only the oven was gray stone.

“Because you are,” Illona laughed and Geralt grumbled. She was one year older than him. Not that it looked like it, but he had asked, after her third attempt at mocking him. Not that the mocking had stopped, after.

Popping a piece of cheese into his mouth, he watched the woman place another smaller pie form onto the dough she had just smoothed out and then fill that with peas. His eyebrow shot up, when she pushed the - whatever that was - into the oven.

“Why are you baking a fillingless pie?”

Joyous laughter filled the kitchen and confusion Geralt’s mind. He was sure it wasn’t that much of a weird question. He wasn’t particularly good at cooking, but he had become better with time. His stew was perfect, if he trusted his own taste buds. Not that he had anyone else’s opinion to go by. Maybe they would let him cook a whole dinner for once? With Illona’s supervision if needed.

“It’s called blind baking,” Illona explained, when her laughter had died down. The joy was still in her eyes, though. The edges around them crinkled with mirth. “You can cook only so much recipes by filling a pie, before it had baked. But with this method you have a perfect crust and all the variations of preparing the stuffing to your liking at your disposal. It’s …” She searched for the right phrasing before she continued. “... It’s effort and time you put into a dish to make it perfect instead of being sloppy and settling for less. It’s quite alright, sometimes, but most of the times it’s not.”

Considering what he had heard and turning the words over in his head, he hummed and shrugged. He wasn’t sure he understood fully. Maybe it was one of these things you only learned with practice. Like wielding a sword and riding a horse. All the theory in the world wouldn’t make up for the simplest try. And then to try again and again and again until you got it right. He put the knife he had cut the cheese and bread with away.

“Do you need help?” Geralt asked and Illona smiled at him, like a proud mother would. His heart sang.

“Always, dear. Come, grab some of those onions for me.” He did. The pie they had for dinner was marvelous.

* * *

He was tense. Geralt knew he had been the last few days, because working up the courage to talk with Alfred about Kaer Morhen wasn’t as easy as he had thought. Not because of Alfred, gods if anyone would understand it was this wondrous, amazing man, but because of his own mind and all the admission would bring to the surface. Telling Vesemir, not seeing Julian next winter, finding out if and who had died the last three years. His heart clenched.

“Geralt,” Alfred called and the voice brought him back to reality. In front of him, Snowdrop had halted, ears flicking nervously. Lowering his arms and closing his eyes, Geralt let the riding crop hang loosely in his hand. If anyone realized his nerves it was his horse. And Snowdrop had, by stopping in front of him rather than getting on her hind legs. She was a smart girl.

“Sorry, girl. Today’s not my day,” he murmured and if in answer, Snowdrop bumped her head into his chest. Yes, he deserved that. He nuzzled into her neck, breathing in her smell, the earthy scents of the riding hall, the dust and sunshine that tickled his skin. Behind him footsteps crunched on the ground. Without moving, Geralt waited until a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alfred asked and Geralt sighed into Snowdrop’s fur, before he reached for her halfter, more grounding himself than his mare.

“I guess” he answered and watched emerald eyes flicker over his face. A soft smile losend Geralt’s stiff muscles. Alfred just had that effect on him. Maybe he had that effect on everybody.

“I know what you need,” Alfred replied, but didn’t elaborate further. All that remained on his face was his smile and Geralt trusted him to know what he was talking about. So he followed, not asking further questions. They ended up in the infamirity, after putting Snowdrop back in her box and asking Dave to tend to her. Both Eliza and Julian were sleeping soundlessly, their soft breaths a background noise in Geralt’s head.

He watched them, Eliza, small, beautiful Eliza, with her round face, eyes closed, hands balled into fists and laying on her stomach. Tufts of hair fell messily on her forehead and she twitched in her sleep. Next to her, Julian had fisted her shirt in his hand, looking peaceful and proud to protect his young sister. His head nuzzled into her smaller body and only his legs were covered by the woolen blanket. Something inside Geralt melted.

Julia had sat in front of the bed reading, but when Alfred and Geralt stepped in, she just took one look before she stood. The book closed silently, her lips curled upwards and she placed a kiss on Geralt’s cheeks, hugged and kissed Alfred on the lips and left the room. Geralt watched her retreating back and wondered how he had gotten so lucky to meet two such wonderful people.

“Sit,” Alfred murmured and gestured to the vacant chair. But instead of sitting Geralt kneeled at the bed and carefully placed a hand on the backside of Julian’s head. Soft hair under his fingers tickled slightly. Without thinking he smoothed it out, before he stood back up and lowered himself into the chair. In all his life he had never believed to find a place that offered so much serenity. A peaceful haven for a witcher, a creature morphed by magical hands, toxic poisons, trials and blood and steel and loss. He had found it here, between a child - two children - a viscount, his wife and maid and cook and stable hand. His cousin, a mage. Between a family of blood and love and carefully woven bonds.

Amber eyes found emerald and Geralt concentrated on the soft breaths and the beating hearts of their kids. It felt like peace.

“When I traveled I met one of my brothers,” he started and Alfred rose an eyebrow. A small smile tugged at the edges of Geralt’s lips. “Brother in arms, if you so will, fellow witcher, a dear… friend.” He paused. The word friend felt wrong. Eskel was so much more than a simple friend. He was as close to his heart than Alfred was, but different. So different.

“A friend, hm?” Alfred murmured, and the glint in his eyes. He knew. Simple as that, Geralt realized that something must have given him away, because Alfred, perceptive Alfred, knew. Maybe not intimately. Maybe not in every detail, but by Melitele, he knew.

“We trained together,” Geralt continued, low voice rumbling to not disrupt the sleep of the children in front of him. Alfred had sat himself on the edge of the bed. “Only three out of ten boys survive becoming a witcher. I certainly didn’t think to survive. But I wanted him to live, always have. We promised each other to… survive. We did. We survived together.”

A hand sneaked into his. Their fingers entangled, Alfred’s thump brushing over his palm. It was a comforting touch that wanted nothing and gave everything. A gift a witcher never received. Had never received. Until now. Tilting his head, Geralt watched in awe the mix of sadness and wonder on Alfred’s face. Smelled a scent that said ‘It’s awful what you had to go through, but I’m glad you did. I’m glad you’re here.’

He could have commented on it, but decided, he didn’t need to. Not with Alfred.

“His name is Eskel.” Geralt took a breath. “I haven’t been to Kaer Morhen. It’s where I grew up, where we return to each winter. I haven’t been there the last two years and won’t be this year. Not returning usually means -” He couldn’t finish the sentence but Alfred mouthed the correct answer silently. Something heavy was in the green of his eyes.

_ Death. _

Geralt nodded.

“Go.” One single word, but it was enough to break a damn inside of Geralt. Emotions flooded him like waves and he didn’t know how to deal with them. He had been told… it had been beaten into him that as a witcher he wouldn’t have this. Because feelings made you slow and being slow meant to die. But Alfred was the greatest contradiction of all he had believed so far. Suddenly his lip quivered and words failed him.

“Oh, Geralt. This is what you were afraid of? Don’t you ever be.” Alfred smiled at him, his voice so full of confidence and tenderness. Arms wrapped around him, pressed him into his shoulder, held him close. It was comforting. It was everything.

“Go, next winter. You can come here every day, whenever you want. You don’t have to wait for the first snowfall, to make it home. But it seems Kaer Morhen is a winter’s keep. So, let your path cross Lettenhove during spring, summer and fall - and visit your brothers in the winter.”

He sobbed. No tears fell, but he sobbed.

“And bring this Eskel along. I would love to meet him.”

And suddenly his sobs mixed with laughter. Gods, he knew Eskel would love Alfred, as he did.

* * *

During the next few days Geralt spent a lot of his time thinking about his conversation with Alfred. A plan - no, more like an idea, because it couldn’t really be called a plan. A plan was for battles and fights and hunts. Ideas where thoughts with loose ends tied together, but the knots could easily be opened up for improvement. So an idea was there, but Geralt didn’t know how to bring it to life. Mostly because witchers didn’t tend to stay in one place long enough to send letters. But he wanted to show Eskel all of this, this happiness, this home of his, this family. This. Lettenhove. Them. Alfred and Julia, Julian and Eliza, Illona and Dave and Diana. Amara…

Pacing his room, Geralt pushed his thoughts around. He didn’t spend much time with sorceresses and he knew Amara considered herself more of a healer than a mage. But she was one, would always be and maybe she could help? Falling onto his back, he stared at the wooden ceiling. Not that he could ask her. She was still with the Redanian Court. For weeks now, weeks of hidden worry he could smell on Julia and Alfred. Weeks of worry growing thicker and more prominent. Geralt missed her snippy remarks. The easy smile of the healer. Her half smirk. He missed Amara just being herself and close.

It was getting warmer and warmer. The snow hadn’t melted yet, but Geralt resigned himself to not seeing Amara this year. Alfred had told him he didn’t know when she would be back, anxious and angry at his cousin - the king of Redania, but what did Alfred care for such a tiny detail as that, anyway? - for keeping part of their family away. They both knew she didn’t like to be tied to the Redanian Court. Especially after she had resigned being court mage. After she had been forced to resign.

They sat at the dinner table, chatting animatedly, the casserole finished with no leftovers whatsoever. Diana and Dave had excused themselves a while ago, supposedly to look after the horses but everyone at the table knew it was rather to use the haystack. Julian played with some carved wooden figures, the flute for once being forgotten in favor of wooden horses and wolfs. Eliza slept in Julia’s arms.

“... letter saying they had a werewolf problem, but the description sounds rather as if they couldn’t protect their hens from foxes. Tell, Geralt, do werewolves eat hens?” Alfred asked, recounting the content of a letter he had gotten this morning from an alderman of one of his towns a few days ride over. Even though Geralt agreed wholeheartedly with Alfred - werewolves usually did not kill hens - he decided he would pass through the town once the snow melted and he had to get back on the path. Couldn’t hurt looking into it.

“Hm, not re-” Geralt wanted to answer and stopped, when his medalloin vibrated against his bare chest. He had hidden it under his simple black shirt. Immediately tense, he reached for his knife and gripped it hard in lieu of a better weapon in reach and pressed his chair away from the table to have better reach. Then a flame appeared above the center of the table. The fire flared and went out, revealing a small parchment of paper. Before the note could fall onto the table, Alfred reached for it, bright eyed and smiling.

“Thank goodness,” he sighed and Geralt lowered the knife, realising no one seemed to be afraid. Instead relief hit his nostrils. Blinking irritated, he focused on Alfred, who settled back in his chair, brushing flocks of ash from the sleeves of his blue shirt. Then he folded open the note and scanned it. With every word he read his mouth stretched until he smiled.

“Amara will be back tomorrow and she says she will come here, because our tub is bigger and she will need a bath after three months living in courtly filth - not my words, hers. She also wants to eat your stew, Illona dear. I hope you’re up to making it and a bottle of cheap, earthy wine.”

Next to him Julia started to laugh and finally Geralt placed the knife back, relaxing. Not needing to ask, but just looking at the paper, Alfred gave the note over. The handwriting was definitely Amara’s, neat and elegant - the edges of the paper were slightly burnt. Well at least Geralt knew now, that informing Eskel of his idea shouldn’t be much of a problem.

* * *

True to her word, Amara appeared at the Pankratz’ estate the next day, looking exhausted - dark rings under her eyes, hair tousled and clothes rumpled - and ready to murder someone. Without a word she vanished towards the bathroom and left him silent and worried. He had never seen her like this. But, as always, Alfred sensed his thoughts. Placing a hand on Geralt’s shoulder he took a breath before he spoke.

“She hates court. Let her bath, and she will be alright.”

It wasn’t him who answered, but Julian, who Geralt held. “Ama is back.” He laughed and shifted in his arms, blue eyes looking at Geralt, fingers tugging at his white hair. “Gel’at, want fute. Let’s play.”

Unable to deny Julian, Geralt sat back down on the floor in the common room of the house and released the boy, so he could get his beloved instrument. A soft rug brushed his bare feet. Julian had both gotten better in saying Geralt’s name and playing the flute. No more loud, annoying sounds escaped the thing, and while it was no melody, the tones were quite clear when Julian blew into it. One day… well, yeah - who knew, but somehow thinking of Julian making music one day was a rather pleasant thought.

* * *

“You look like shit,” Geralt grinned when he slipped into the guest room, at the moment occupied by Amara. It was evening, now, and candles and a lamp illuminated the room. Her hair was still slightly wet at the tips, but curly as always. The locks lay on her shoulders covered by a red traveling dress. She hadn’t changed yet into night clothes, so Geralt was convinced he hadn’t disrupted any attempt to go to bed early.

“Well, thank you, Geralt. The next time I’m summoned to court, please feel free to go instead,” she replied but the smile that slipped on betrayed her words. For a moment they simply looked at each other, then Geralt closed the door behind him. The next moment he had his hands full of Amara, and sunk his nose into her neck. Her arms held him tightly in a hug.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he admitted and without letting go, Amara replied.

“I’m sorry I missed most of your stay.”

Geralt just hummed, not wanting to dwell on that. He had another week or so before he would return on the path. It wasn’t much, but at least something, after he had thought he wouldn’t see her at all.

They released and Geralt sat on a free chair, while Amara gathered her hair into a ponytail, holding the strands together with a tie. Watching her, he took in her form, committing the figure she stroke to memory. He really had missed her.

“Say,” Geralt asked after a while. He really wanted this to work, hoped it would. “This form of sending letters, what does it entail?”

Turning, Amara looked him up and down and then grinned. “You want to send a note? I thought witchers don’t rely on magic.” Her words made Geralt huff. His hands fell behind his back, to brace himself up.

“If that were true I would have died last year.”

Opening and closing her mouth, he could see how Amara wanted to protest, but couldn’t. She relented and shrugged her shoulders. “True enough.” Her fingers flexed and she took the few steps to sit next to him. “Help me unlace?” With that her back turned to him. Without questioning it, Geralt started on the many buttons. Meanwhile Amara spoke.

“It’s not that hard of a spell, actually. But, as I assume I don’t know this person you want to contact, it gets a little tricky. I can always send letters to places I know, or to people I have a connection to. This house, easy enough. Same goes for Alfred, Julia or even you.” That made Geralt raise an eyebrow. He was constantly on the move, but he was glad Amara had a way to contact him, should they ever need him to come back for whatever reason. Protection, help. If they called, he knew he would leave everything behind and get on his way.

“And if you don’t know where or who you’re sending a letter to?” Geralt indulged her. By now her dress was halfway open.

“Then I need something to track them. A personal item works best. A piece of clothing, jewelry.”

“A dagger?” Geralt interrupted, thinking back to the day he and Eskel had traded daggers. It had been shortly before their last trial. A promise to give it back once they survived. They never had. He still considered it Eskel’s, a token to give back one day - but not too soon, because he still needed the other witcher to survive out on the path. He had seen his own, back when he had run into his brother, so he knew Eskel had it still as well. It had clattered to the floor when they had stripped each other of their armor. Clothes. Maybe they should never trade it back.

“That will work just as fine,” Amara replied and with it pulled Geralt back to the present. The fabric of her dress glided down her arms to reveal pale skin and - to his surprise - a large, thin scar from the left of her shoulder blade to the right of her hip. Sorceresses didn’t need to have scars. If they had, they had wanted to keep them. But asking about it was out of the question. Showing him alone screamed of a trust he wasn’t sure he deserved, but was glad to have.

“Write your note and come back tomorrow with the dagger. I won’t be performing any spells anymore tonight.”

Nodding to nothing but Amara’s back, Geralt stood and walked to the door. He smiled and turned. There she was, a woman so beautiful and kind, with her ice-blue eyes and full lips, being beautiful and noble, yet all he felt towards her was brotherly pride. She knew, Geralt realized, Amara knew how he felt about her. Otherwise she would have never let him open her dress, would have never let him touch her as he had. He wondered where she got that scar from, when he murmured a “Good night.” and left the room. Maybe one day she would tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me referencing to the show and explaining why Geralt said the things he had? Me? Never :D
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support <3 I love every kudo, every bookmark and of course every review


	13. interlude - wide roads and high horses

He hated harpies. For various reasons, that was for sure. But mostly because those beasts were fucking bitches that liked to mock him. With shrill voices, bird-like but also sounding like the wind howling through mountains, Eskel always knew they would taunt him for his scarred face. They would laugh at him, call him names and flaunt their own beauty. Oh, he hated most that their faces were always beautiful. Not a natural beauty, but perfect nonetheless.

As always he had promised himself to not let it affect him. Those harpies were veil beasts and his only task was to kill them, to free the nearby village of their terror. It would get him good coin, too. Or so he had been promised. Who knew if the villagers kept their end of the bargain? Eskel didn’t have faith in humans anymore. Too often had he been chased out, called a monster and abomination, instead of being paid. How easy to do, when the monsters were already dead. His scars didn’t make things easier. He hated it.

He hated a lot of things, but as his sword fell to the ground, the last harpy a dead weight in front of him and his shoulder bloody and mangled, he hated most that he hadn’t been able to not listen.

“No one will ever love you with that face,” the youngest harpy - a teenager merely - had called and it had distracted him enough to get hurt. It was his own fault, Eskel knew. It didn’t stop the words from echoing over and over inside his head.

“Not true,” he muttered. He tried to move his shoulder and a sharp pain radiated from it into his stomach. He felt sick. “Not true,” he said louder, kicked the body before him for good measure and closed his eyes. Not true. Not true. Not true.

He needed to regain some strength before he could collect a head and get his coin. Meditation would be good. Maybe use Swallow and bandage his wound. Eat something. All he did was fall on his knees and try to chase the voice out of his mind. It didn’t really work.

* * *

The wind around him rustled the leaves of the forest. It was a soothing sound and calmed his foggy mind. The villagers had paid him, even though they had made quite clear they didn’t want him around longer than needed. So all Eskel had done was get some supplies before he searched for a good camping spot in the close-by forest. He would have preferred a bath, for once, but would do with the river he could hear gurgle in the distance. Not ideal, but he had worse.

He needed to eat. He hadn’t had the strength yesterday. The effort alone to get out a pot, start a fire - it had been too much. Not that he would have managed to hunt, or set traps. At least the wound on his shoulder started to close.

“Bread,” he murmured to himself. He could eat some bread, and then hunt. Start a fire. Cook. Eat some real meal and maybe, maybe make another potion of Swallow, as he had used the last one yesterday. His feet carried him to his bags, while the sun slowly started to rise above him. The clouds turned from pink to yellow to blue. Soon it would be bright and the morning would fade. A cold wind rushed through the trees and made him shudder. He looked at the sky, turned towards north and sighed. Another month. Another month and he would head for Kaer Morhen. Even though it didn’t held as much relief as it usually did. Because he knew Geralt wouldn’t be there.

“Next year,” Eskel sighed and closed his eyes. Centered himself. “He had promised.” At least he knew that Geralt was alive, and hadn’t had to worry a whole season because the fucker didn’t show up - again.

* * *

Winter at Kaer Morhen had been as uneventful as it could be, when a dozen witchers were crammed into a broken-down castle for one whole season. They had become less than last year. Too little too less. What once had been a proud school - or as proud as a school to create witchers could be - was now only a memory. A ghost, bound by burned walls and crashed stone. But it was home, and a safe place.

Spring was close. Another week and the first snowdrops would pop out of the ground, a sign to leave again. He didn’t know if he looked forward to it or not. Another year out on the path, facing monsters and men alike, killing beasts to make money, to survive.

With a sigh Eskel closed his eyes and tried to grasp his dream, again. It had been a nice dream, that he knew, but nothing else. He only ever dreamed nice things when he felt safe, but he rarely remembered them.

“Come back,” he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut… and then almost jumped out of his bed when his medaillon vibrated. Frantically he looked around for his swords, but before he could grab them a flame appeared half a meter in front of him. His eyes widened when he realized it was a piece of parchment. It burned for another moment, then the flames went out and the paper sunk down until it landed on his blanket.

“Fucking magic,” he said out loud, just to make some noise. His medaillon had stilled, but he took another moment to sense the air. It seemed, however, the piece of parchment was just that - a piece of parchment.

“This better be good.”

He should stop talking to himself. Wasn’t talking to yourself a sign of madness? He picked up the - letter? His heart jumped when he realized the handwriting. It wasn’t much, but suddenly all Eskel could do was smile. His eyes flitted over the familiar curves of letters. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on the actual content of the note. Because it wasn’t much more than that, to be honest.

 _Eskel, meet me at the crossroads where we once killed that Manticora together, next fall, three weeks prior to winter. The one that leads to Novigrad, Oxenfurt and Dreiberg. I want to introduce you. I will be waiting._ _  
_ _\- Geralt_

They had met by accident back then. They had been attacked by the Manticora without a contract at their backs, but fighting next to Geralt always was a delight. No matter what would happen, Eskel knew Geralt would have his back. The kill had been easy, quick and clean. They even had gotten coin out of it. He had no idea that Lettenhove was close to this particular crossroads. But maybe he shouldn’t wonder. It had probably been Alfred’s deed that they had been paid…

Or not. After all this was twenty years ago and Alfred was what? Geralt had said he was in his late twenties. So maybe his father?

It seemed, next fall he could find out. The smile stayed for the whole day, and many more.

* * *

He really shouldn’t have taken the contract. Not like this. Not so close to seeing Geralt again. Drowners. Fucking drowners, that usually were no problem. They became one when fighting starved and exhausted. It hadn’t even been worth it. No money filled his purse, the small bag empty.

_“Get out of our town, witcher. Fuck off, you beast.”_

It had been the least harmful insult thrown at him. The rest he had blocked out, while he had dragged himself away. Blood ran down his calf. It fucking hurt, but he was out of Swallow, out of White Honey. A humourless laugh left his throat. By Melitele, he was practically out of everything. No food, no coin, no potions. He could be lucky to still be alive.

“Who knows for how long?” he muttered under his breath. Madness. Talking to yourself was madness. His whole life was.

Taking a contract after not having been paid for three weeks, not having eaten for four days, not having slept for - well why was he even counting the hours? His head hurt and his sight was swimming. Also, his stomach had stopped growling. That was a bad sign, right?

The only bright spot in his darkness was the knowledge that this fucking crossroad was somewhere around here. Maybe another ten minutes walk. Twenty? Wasn’t it here somewhere? The trees looked familiar, the landscape with it’s meadows and fields. Redania was a populated region and needed the farmers to feed the people. As he dragged his feet forward, bag shouldered and ignoring the pain, Eskel was sure it would be just his luck to fall unconscious only minutes away from their meeting point.

He would fall unconscious and then either his hunger or bandits would take his life. Bandits he would prefer. They usually were quicker. What a shit way to die. Especially for a witcher. Why did this all look the fucking same? Meadows and fields and green and brown everywhere. Fall was in it’s full season.

He trudged up a small hill, not seeing over its peak yet. The path was wide and clear. Not big enough to be a trading route, but a solid street. He left behind a trail of blood. This stupid fucking wound had reopened and he was out of bandages. Who cared anyway?

Finally, he reached the peak. The sun was blinding him for only a second before his eyes adjusted. His head was pounding. Someone was coming towards him. Someone with a horse, tall. Black clothes. Oh?

“Geralt?” Eskel called, realising the state he was in. He hadn’t the mind capacity to care. The figure took up speed. That were white hair. His shoulders dropped, his knees shook. Maybe he should move forward, meet Geralt in the middle. Blood still pooled down his leg, soaked through his trousers, his boots. He had lost the ability to move.

“Eskel? Fuck, what happened to you?” Geralt’s voice was strained. Oh. Oh, he really must look like shit. Well he definitely felt like it. A smile slipped on his face. What a stupid notion. But he wanted to say he was fine, wanted to soothe that expression on his brother’s face. He wasn’t fine, he knew that. He was a lot, but not stupid. Naiv maybe. That, he surely was.

By now, Geralt only needed a few more steps to reach him and he took them in rapid speed. His golden eyes were narrowed, his mouth a thin line. Gods, but he was beautiful, even looking as worried as this.

“Drowners. Two villages over,” Eskel replied. Geralt’s nostrils flared and his eyes flicked to his wound. He huffed. Didn’t believe him, but couldn’t smell the lie. Well, drowners shouldn’t be a problem, right? “Didn’t really eat.” It was at that, that Geralt’s eyes widened. Warm hands gripped his shoulders, stabilized, held, enveloped him. Under the weight of finally, finally feeling like coming home, his knees buckled.

He didn’t hit the ground, only an armored chest and a strong hold.

* * *

“Sit up,” Geralt growled. His patience was wearing thin, Eskel knew but he still didn’t move closer. His eyes flitted over the horse - Snowdrop - taking in the strong muscles under the fur. It was a beautiful horse. Brown, dark eyes. Intelligent. A white ear, the other brown. Ears that flicked back and forth as it waited patiently. All in all it seemed nice, the horse. But…

“They don’t like me,” Eskel admitted. No horse did. He had tried a few times but they always bit him and once he was sitting on them, they bucked him down. Well, this one horse at least had, some twenty years ago. He hadn’t tried again.

Geralt’s eyebrow shot up. He had helped Eskel sit on a fallen tree just nearby, had forced bread and cheese and dried meat down his throat, telling him to fucking eat, for Melitele’s sake. Not that he had met great resistance in Eskel. Geralt had also bandaged his calf again, that had stopped bleeding at least. His trousers were ruined, anyway. Why had he thought again that red would hide the blood stains? He should take a page out of Geralt’s book. Black surely would hide a lot more.

“I always wondered why you travel by foot. I hadn’t anticipated it is you believing horses don’t like you. Now, get up my horse and let me prove you wrong.”

A huff escaped him unbidden. “You’re easy to talk. Horses adore you,” Eskel said. Always had. As far as Eskel remembered Geralt had always been good with the animals. How often had he found the other in the stables at Kaer Morhen? How often had they landed in the haystack for that very matter? A lot of times. A very lot of times.

“Horses don’t adore-,” Geralt started but stopped himself from finishing the sentence. His brown furred. Instead of speaking again he got even closer to Eskel and put a hand on his shoulder. The touch was warm. “You do trust me?”

“Of course.” No need to think this answer over. Geralt nodded and a small smile splayed on his mouth. It made the dreadful witcher - as if - look instantly less intimidating. How many people got to see that smile? Eskel was glad he was one of them.

“Well, then trust me that Snowdrop will not bite you or throw you off.”

Again he wanted to protest but in the end Eskel didn’t but nodded instead. He had said he trusted Geralt and he did. “Fine, get me on your horse.” Also, his leg started to hurt again.

Geralt clicked with his tongue and Eskel watched with fascination how Snowdrop took a few steps over, to stop right besides them. It was a perfect offer for him - or rather Geralt - to get up and into the saddle. Well, okay, maybe this one wouldn’t throw him off.

Geralt on his part patted the mare on the neck and purred. Oh… okay, fuck. He shuddered. That was a voice Eskel loved. Deep and dark and soothing. “Good girl,” Geralt murmured into her fur and added, for good measure. “You’re gonna carry us home, won’t you? Be gentle with Eskel here, he believes horses don’t like him. Stupid boy, isn’t he?”

He really loved that horse, didn’t h- wait? “Hey,” he tried to sound insulted but when he saw Geralt’s grin, he only harrumphed. “You’re an ass.”

“But a nice one,” Geralt shot right back and that was something Eskel couldn’t argue with. He definitely had a nice ass. “Come.” Bending down, Geralt folded his fingers together, so Eskel could place a foot - his uninjured side - onto it. With his hands he gripped the saddle and one, two, three he was up in the air and the next moment he sat comfortably in the leather saddle. Pain shot through his injured limp, but he took a deep breath and forced it away. He could manage. A moment later he felt Geralt sit up behind him. A shudder rushed through his body when his back connected with Geralt’s chest. Strong arms reached around him, took the reins and Snowdrop under him started to move. Slowly, smoothly. Very gently, as far as Eskel could tell.

“That’s not so bad,” Eskel admitted after a moment and felt Geralt’s chuckle through his own body. It vibrated through their armor into his limbs. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sound and the feeling. His stomach fluttered. Fuck, this man made him feel things.

“She faces monsters regularly and kicked a wyvern unconscious just two weeks ago. She would never throw you off. I trained her well.”

Geralt’s breath brushed his neck as he spoke, chin just inches from his shoulder. Goosebumps appeared on his arm. He tried to turn to look at the man behind him, but Geralt’s arms were strong around his sides. It was a nice feeling. For once, he felt like he was protected, and not to be the one to protect.

“Stop. You’ll fall and it won’t be Snowdrop’s fault.”

Breathing in and out, Eskel looked back straight ahead and took in their surroundings. Before them a forest came into view. Broadleaves, mostly, as far as Eskel could see. Yellow, red and brown greeted them, strong in color and a beautiful picture. Though many many leaves already dotted the ground. Winter was close, but not yet here. By now he had gotten used to the soft movement under him. It really wasn’t that bad, all of this. Riding. Maybe riding could not be so bad, after all?

“How does a horse kick a wyvern?” Eskel asked after a moment of just … enjoying everything, but mostly the peace that started to settle into his bones. Tension left his limbs. Exhaustion took hold. But for once it didn’t scare him. Maybe because he wasn’t alone and knew it wouldn’t eventually cost him his life, if he slacked.

“By jumping high and well… kicking.” Geralt patted whatever fur he could reach. “We trained that well into you, didn’t we, darling?”

Snowdrop snickered and shook her head. It startled Eskel but he found his composure swiftly enough. He leaned back against the solid chest, as best as he could on top of a horse - moving horse - in a saddle, with an injured leg. “The way you talk to your horse could make lesser men jealous.”

Exhaustion seemed to cloud his mind, as well.

A laugh caught Eskel’s ear, before lips did. Warmth pooled into his guts, seeping from the touch into his stomach. “Because she keeps me safe, so I can meet you again? You better thank her profoundly later.” And when the lips found his neck to kiss whatever skin they could reach, Eskel decided that he would. Even though horses usually didn’t like him. But it was worth it. If Snowdrop secured Geralt returning to him, he liked her. Under him, the mare snickered, when his fingers slid into her mane.

“Hmm, soft,” he hummed and realised his eyes slipped close. Arms wrapped tighter around him and a deep soft purr told him to “sleep”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Eskel. You probably figured, but I absolutely adore him.  
> One more Eskel-pov chapter will follow
> 
> and again thank you so much for all your reviews. If you want to chat with me, find me on tumblr (arzani-fuchsia). I promise I won't bite :)


	14. interlude - canine madness

Eskel woke, slowly and still closer to sleep than to wakefulness, when a young voice called out “Mister Witcher”. With fluttering eyelids he saw a pair coming towards them, one very young child and her father, it seemed. They smelled similar, like relatives usually did. For a moment he wanted to tense, prepare for the harsh words, the insults, things flying his way. But Geralt behind him stayed relaxed and so did he. It just wasn’t in him to be afraid when Geralt was close and warm and content.

“Kate, Pete,” Geralt answered the soft voice and Eskel blinked, when - was that a smile on the girl’s face? She looked happy - and then her face dropped when she recognised Eskel. His heart clenched. Of course. As if it was second nature to him, and by now it was, he repressed the hurt that threatened to infuse him. Children were the worst to endure. They could be so innocent, but so influenceable. It wasn’t their fault.

“Mister Witcher, your friend looks bad. Is he alright?”

Oh. Oh! That wasn’t fear in the girl’s - Kate, obviously - voice. That was… worry? Shit, okay. Wow. She was worrying about him? Because he was with Geralt? Maybe he was still dreaming. But his nose could smell leather and oil, and dust and grass and the cold breeze and Eskel didn’t smell while he dreamt. He never did. Not smelling was his go to indication that he was in fact asleep and things weren’t real. But this girl wafted the sour smell of worry and it was strange. Good. But strange.

“He fought some monster two villages over, Kate, and got injured,” Geralt explained, his voice sober and neutral but not harsh. Kate blinked, paled a little and her father placed a hand on her shoulder, reassuringly. As if to say, look, he’s a witcher, it’s a dangerous life but he’s here and he’s fine. But that could be Eskel’s imagination, too.

Their clothes looked sturdy. Not fine, but good enough. Wool and leather and linen. Fit for the season, good quality. Mh. Eskel wondered who they were, here in Lettenhove. Geralt surely knew, but he liked to imagine. Merchants? Tailors? His thoughts however, didn’t wander far.

“So he’s a witcher as well?” Kate asked, and her stubby nose wrinkled a little in confusion. Eskel managed a smile, exhausted as he was, when green forest eyes took him in. He nodded at her. It was rewarded with a weary smile, until something like determination set into the girl’s face. “Mister, you should take better care of yourself.”

Behind him Geralt chuckled and pressed his arms a little closer to his waist. His stomach fluttered and he couldn’t pinpoint if it was for the words or Geralt’s embrace. Both made him feel warm.

“Is Amara home?” It seemed Geralt had shifted his focus towards the man, because it was him who nodded. “Could you tell her to come see us at the estate?”

“ ‘course, Geralt,” the man answered. Similar to his daughter, his eyes glanced over Eskel’s body. It made him shudder even though he was used to people staring at him. Most people did, seeing his yellow eyes, his swords and armor, his scars and finding him repulsing. But no repulsion lay in the man’s eyes. Something else, something warmer, but what, he couldn’t say. Instead he watched him lean down and whisper into his daughter’s ear. His witcher senses kicked in.

“Go, tell him thank you,” Pete murmured and for a moment Eskel couldn’t place the words. His gaze flickered to Geralt but in his position he couldn’t see his brother’s face. Then his attention was drawn back to Kate, who walked up to Snowdrop and placed a hand on his leg, looking up. Her locks fell into her face, framing it.

“Thank you for keeping us and the people here safe, Mister Witcher.” Shock and astonishment and something fluttering pooled in his stomach when the words sunk in. His mouth fell open. Words. He grabbed for them, while processing that there were people on this continent who appreciated witchers enough to … to say thank you. Behind him Geralt snorted, as if he tried to reign in his laughter. He probably did, the Bastard. Not everyone was used to the kind people of Lettenhove, as he was.

Instead of elbowing Geralt in the ribs, as he deserved, Eskel leaned down and smiled. For once he didn’t worry how it made him look. Kate’s hand still rested on his - thankfully uninjured - leg and he stroke through her hair once, lightly. “You’re welcome, Kate. I’m Eskel.”

She beamed at him. “Hello, Mister Eskel. We’ll tell Amara that you’re here and she’ll heal you and then you stay safe, okay?”

Blinking, Eskel needed to push through the lump that had formed in his throat. Again Geralt pressed him a little closer to his body, giving him stability and halt. “I’ll try,” was his answer. He didn’t want to lie, didn’t want to say ‘yes’ when he knew how dangerous a witcher’s path was. But he wanted to try. And really, trying he would.

“Let’s get them going, Kate,” Pete said and reached for his daughter’s hand. She dutifully took it and stepped back. “We’ll see you ‘round, Geralt.”

“Yeah,” Geralt rumbled behind him and Snowdrop started to move again. “See you soon. Be good for your father, Kate.” The girl nodded and waved, eyes sparkling with joy.

Only after a while, when house came and went, like they did in a town as big as Lettenhove, Geralt hooked his chin over Eskel’s shoulder. His voice was low and deep and made him shudder. “You know, Kate’s very firm with promises. Do try, for her?”

Eskel nodded, heart beating fast. Or at least a little faster than usual. “ O’course.” 

Around him the houses made way for open space. Paddocks, horses and green grass. Somewhere in the distance Eskel could spot a large house, stone and wood and two floors at least. A stable next to it. Geralt’s words still echoed in his mind. He knew what he had meant with them. Think of Kate, the next time, and try to stay alive. For her, for me. For this. He would. He would try.

The house became bigger as nearer they got and Snowdrop started to gain speed. Not much, but noticeable. Geralt’s breath tickled his ear.

“We’re home.”

Eskel wondered what that meant for him. Being home.

* * *

They stopped in the middle of the front yard of the estate, facing the big house. Geralt hadn’t lied when he had told Eskel Alfred was well-of. The man surely didn’t lack money. It was hard to believe that most of it in fact hadn’t come from his noble title but by hard work and selling horses. But again, Eskel had no idea how much a horse could cost and where to look for differences. He was, after all, still not good with the animals.

Behind him Geralt slipped from Snowdrop’s back and held out a hand that Eskel took. It helped him to not put too much pressure on his injured leg. “Thanks,” he murmured and stopped in his tracks when he more felt than saw movement. A shadow flickered and something crashed towards them from the direction of the stables, but not inside them. It rather came from next to it, where the sun couldn’t reach through, blocked by both the stables and the house. Only a moment later Eskel realized it was a horse that galloped towards them with full speed. A man sat on top of it, hands around its neck, eyes wide and fearful.

“Alfred,” Geralt shouted and before Eskel could react Geralt had started to run. White hair flew in the wind, muscle moved and with awe Eskel watched how his brother reached for the man who seemed to realize him as well. Cursing, Eskel couldn’t fathom how this was supposed to go down without injury, but the man let go of the horse’s neck, slung one leg over its back and … jumped. Geralt’s arms wrapped around the man’s torso, absorb the movement and they both crashed to the ground, skitting a little. The noise made Eskel’s hairs stand on end, but he was distracted when he realized the horse hadn’t stopped moving and seemed to run directly towards him. Shit.

“Eskel, Axii,” Geralt shouted and he simply followed the lead of the voice. His fingers moved, forming the sign and a moment later his head was filled with fragments of… not thoughts. They weren’t clear enough to be thoughts, it was abstract and wild and more feelings than clear structure. Pain flooded him, wildness, wind and the need to run. But mostly pain. Pain, pain and more pain, and he used all his strength to try and sooth. He took the need to run and replaced it with stillness and grass and peace. The horse started to slow and finally stopped some meters away from him. Turning, Eskel slowly let go of the grip he had on the horse’s mind and while he regained his breath, took it in. It was a beautiful black color, the fur shimmering in the sun. But the eyes weren’t clear like Snowdrop’s. They were wild. Aggravated. Afraid.

“It’s ill,” he said, more to himself, than anyone. He knew he was right. The pain he had felt hadn’t been his own, the mind fragments obviously shattered, even for a horse. He whispered a truth, like he often found himself doing after using Axii. He just couldn’t stop himself, and Eskel knew, his grip on a mind was different than of any other witcher. All his signs were.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone, but he could feel Geralt’s eyes bore into him, before he saw his head whip around. When he spoke, it sounded rather like a growl, but Eskel could hear the fear seep through.

“Fuck, Alfred, what were you thinking, riding a stallion who has canine madness?”

Canine madness. So that was what Eskel had felt? If it was, it must be a miserable life for a horse. Sadness crashed into him.

The man, Alfred, seemed to shiver as the words reached him, his eyes - a beautiful emerald green - wide and shocked. “What? Fuck. I, shit, I had no idea. I only got him some days ago.” His head tilted and he looked at Geralt. Really looked at him. Eskel felt like he was watching a show. Like he didn’t belong, was an outsider and not participating. The feeling intensified when Alfred started to laugh. His brown hair fell into his eyes, he swept it away with his hand, sat up a little more and buried his head into the crook of Geralt’s neck. Only Eskel’s witcher senses allowed him to follow the conversation. His heart thrummed at the easy contact he witnessed Geralt allowing. No one touched the other witcher unless he trusted them. If Geralt’s heroic act of saving Alfred hadn’t given his affection for the man away, this definitely did. It astonished Eskel more than he was ready to admit.

“Shit. Fuck, Geralt. Fuck. Again, you show up just in time to safe my life. Good Melitele, fuck.” Alfred’s voice was shaky and relieved and cracked as he shook with his laughs. He pulled himself away from Geralt who had his arms still around Alfred’s waist. “How do you do that? Fucking witcher’s strength. I ramble, do I? Thank you. Really, Geralt, thank you for saving my life, again. You know, you should claim the Law of Surprise, again. Just o-”

“Alfred, shut the fuck u-” Geralt finally found his voice and protested, but was interrupted himself as he had interrupted Alfred. A shout, that came from the stables, drew all attention towards it. Eskel’s head snapped to it, to have a better view, as did Geralt’s and Alfred’s, who had finally stopped talking. The stable door opened and a young man rushed out, eyes gleaming and mouth a big smile.

“Alfred,” he shouted, “Roach’s pregnant.”

“The fuck?” Geralt muttered, while Alfred started to laugh again, harder this time. He grinned, bright and sly, while chokes rocked his body. Around his neck, Eskel’s medaillon vibrated lowly. Magic? What the fuck and by Melitele’s tits had he gotten himself into?

* * *

Eskel stood, unable to do anything other than stand and stare. He watched the young man rush towards Alfred and Geralt, his expression shifting to concerned when he realized they were on the ground. His eyes flitted to the black stallion which stood close to Eskel, still. He was calm now, but only because of Axii, Eskel knew. He had no idea how long it would hold, but he also had no idea what to do with a horse that had canine madness. In the back of his mind, he realized what only outcome could come with such a disease, and while he hated it, he also knew - intimately like no one else - that it was mercy. Snowdrop, on the other hand had gotten away from the whole scene and stood some distance away. Smart girl.

With the young man’s help - Eskel dimly remembered from Geralt’s tellings it must be Dave, the stable hand - Alfred stood, then Geralt. Eskel noticed how his brother didn’t need any help and it drained some of his tension. No injuries, then. Good.

“You know the foal will be yours,” Alfred murmured, lowly but not silently enough for a witcher. Geralt just harrumph. Something inside Eskel constricted. Oh, shit.

“I didn’t say yes.”

But Eskel knew that no matter how much Geralt protested, destiny had other ideas. His medaillon had vibrated. Magic had been in the air and aside from the Law of Surprise there was nothing else to provoke it. Geralt may think it horse-shit or something, but Eskel was aware that destiny was a force not to be reckoned with. It was one of the things he and Geralt had never been able to come to an agreement with, despite it affecting his brother a lot more than himself. Maybe that was why. Maybe it was the chaos that swirled inside Eskel.

“Geralt,” Eskel called over and took a step. Pain shot through his body and he keened. Fuck. Casting Axii had taken its toll on him. It always did. Using Axii was exhausting and consuming. He experienced it differently than any other witcher, but it also affected him differently. A mind is a fragile thing. But he smiled through his pain, even though Geralt’s eyes darkened. Especially because Geralt’s eyes darkened. “Don’t argue with your friend and claim the foal.”

“No,” Geralt protested, voice low. “Eskel, you’re…” Eskel didn’t let him finish but took another step. Pain ripped through his leg, up into his stomach like waves. He winced. Fucking Drowners. Fucking Axii. Fucking destiny that formed chaos and all that was around them to its liking. Geralt just couldn’t mess with it. It was in them, in every fiber, in every grass, the ground, the air. It was life, chaos sorted.

“Don’t be a dick. It’s already yours.” His sight blurred at the edges. Ah, shit.

“Eskel, stop moving.” The tone was hard but Geralt looked worried. The frown gave him away. No, the golden eyes narrowing. Eskel just loved this face too much, always had. It was ingrained into his mind. He took another step. He didn’t really know why. Because he had to. Because destiny wasn’t to be fucked with. Because he was a witcher, but also a magical being and chaos liked him. It had whispered into his ear, more often than not, telling him he was a witcher for a reason.

_“You could have been a mage, Eskel. But that’s not where you belong. Move. Move forward. Go, take another step, despite your pain.”_

He did. Pain consumed him.

“Okay, okay. I accept the Law of Surprise. Eskel, stop!”

He stopped. A sigh escaped Geralt’s throat, so loud that he could make it out, even without his witcher senses. Suddenly his medaillon vibrated again, and as he turned his head, he realized a portal started to form just a few inches away from him. Instinct took over, to draw his sword and he took another step he hadn’t intended to take. Pain shot through him, as he put too much weight on his injured leg. It hurt, hurt and the black that had clawed at the edges of his eyes took finally over. A shouted “Fuck” was the last thing he recognized, before he drifted into unconscious, that made him fall.

He really shouldn’t have used Axii.

* * *

Soft hands touched his chest, probed at his ribs, glided down his torso, over his hip until they darted around the wound at his legs. It was the touch that woke him. The touch and the pain, that wasn’t there. His eyes cracked open, and as he turned his head to the side, he saw white hair and golden eyes. Geralt sat next to the bed he was lying in and watched him with undisguised worry. When he realized Eskel was awake an eyebrow shot up and his expressions cleared. Eskel missed the openness, despite it showing concern.

“You’re back,” he said and Eskel groaned a little. His head turned to see a woman, who dapped at his leg with a rag. Her face was hidden by many, many brown curls. When she turned, however, obviously because of the noise, Eskel could see ice-blue eyes. Oh, wow. They were a magnificent color. They took him in in and his skin crawled. Oh. Chaos.

“What happened?” he asked, dragging his senses away from the gentle power that swirled around him. His voice was a little hoarse. Geralt grunted, eyes narrowed imperceptibly and Eskel knew the worry, while hidden, hadn’t gone away. 

“You decided to force me into accepting a surprise foal and then, when Amara opened a portal next to you, passed out. I told you to stay put, you dump shit.” Eskel hummed and looked away from the piercing gaze. He hated when Geralt was mad at him and he was very mad. Mad and concerned.

“I’m not sorry about the foal,” he answered ignoring the rest of the sentence. He didn’t want to dig deeper into the reason why he had passed out. They would deal with it later, when - he hissed, as a salve was spread over his wound. This was why they didn’t talk about concern and worry, now. Too many spectators.

“Sorry,” the woman said, but didn’t stop spreading the salve. It tingeled for a moment, then numbed every sensory feeling. She also didn’t really sound sorry. This must be Amara then. He huffed and the ice-blue eyes met his, amused. When their gazes met, the air felt loaded with electricity. Chaos.

“You should be,” Geralt grumbled but Eskel only snorted. Before he could answer, Amara cut in.

“He shouldn’t and stop arguing while I work. Leg up,” she said, not harshly but unmistakably an order. Eskel did as he was told, bending his knee. Clever hands started to bandage him and it took only a minute or so until all was done. His skin pulsed around his wound, but it didn’t hurt. Strange. The slave, obviously. Or not? He hadn’t felt pain before she had spread it onto his wound, too.

“What did you give me?” Eskel asked, his gaze focused on the woman who patted his leg to indicate she was done. She grinned and shrugged. Something felt off. Not in a bad way. But undoubtedly something wasn’t as it was supposed to be.

“A potion for the pain. It won’t last, so enjoy it while you can. I know witchers burn through toxin a lot faster than humans, no matter if it actually does them any good.”

She was right. Surprisingly so. His eyes darted to Geralt, who still sat and watched him intently. The gaze sent shivers down Eskel’s spine. Sometimes it was so easy to read his brother, the one closest to him. Sometimes Eskel knew nothing at all. Still, it must be because of Geralt that she, the healer, knew about this. Why else would she? He lowered his head back onto the bed and sighed. “Thank you, Amara, right?”

“Yes,” she agreed and then took a few steps towards the door. Her head turned to look back at him. His skin tingled. Chaos. “You should rest, Eskel. I will stay for a few days, so I can check your wound. Sleep. Supper’s in a few hours, rest until then.”

His eyes darted to Geralt, who nodded at him and squeezed his hand.

“Geralt, can you join me for a moment? Give your friend some rest,” Amara asked. Next to him Geralt nodded, again, hummed, stood and followed Amara out. But not before he had leaned down to squeeze Eskel reassuringly. When he let go his fingers brushed affectionately over Eskel’s shoulder, touched his skin. This time, when it tingeled, Eskel knew it wasn’t chaos.

Only when they both were gone and the door closed behind them did Eskel realize he hadn’t been afraid for a second. All his instincts, honed over years on the path, that usually assessed every situation, every room, every new person he met, to find and eliminate danger had been silent. They had been silent while Amara had touched him and they were silent still, lying in an unfamiliar room, in a foreign house with strangers.

He was safe here. Eskel instinctively knew he was. He wondered where the knowledge came from. As he drifted into sleep, he realized that through everything, Geralt had smelled of utter contentment.

_We’re home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ehm yes. Eskel is magic, at least in this fic. He's also very in tune with destiny while we all know Geralt is not :D
> 
> This chapter was hard, guy. I tell you. Very hard.


	15. when things will be okay

Worry coursed through him like toxin. It burned his stomach and made him feel sick. He knew that Eskel would be alright. Amara’s healing powers were impeccable and Eskel hadn’t been that wounded. Which was the reason for the worry to not abate. His brother was strong and no drowner’s bite should manage to make him fall unconscious. Even going two days without food. Geralt hated that he knew that. But he had lived through starvation himself more often than not on the path. Two days without food wasn’t as worse for a witcher as it was for a human.

His eyes searched Eskel’s face, taking in his smoothed out expressions. With Amara’s potion they were free of pain. No contorted frown or thin line of his mouth. He looked asleep, calm and beautiful. His fingers traced the scar that would forever remain on his face, a scar that had caused so much grief. Beautiful. Eskel was and would forever be beautiful. Nothing could change that.

Distracted by a movement next to him, Geralt leaned back and only moments later Eskel woke, under Amara’s care and steady fingers, cleaning and stitching the wound, spreading salve onto it and bandaging it at last. He tried not to be too annoyed by both of his friends proclaiming that it was good Eskel had forced him to accept his surprise foal. It wasn’t the foal itself. By the gods, he could never refuse one of Alfred’s foals. He wasn’t stupid and he loved horses. No, what bothered him was Eskel’s insistence for him to accept the Law of Surprise. Geralt knew his fellow witcher was different then the rest of them in regard to magic. His powerful signs proved it. Geralt was also very aware that destiny was a form of chaos and therefore Eskel was very in tune with it. But to hurt himself to make it happen? Geralt hated that thought with all his being. Eskel should never hurt himself, not for anything in the world and especially not for fucking destiny. But here he was.

When Amara asked him to follow her outside, he went. Yet, before he could make himself leave he had to touch Eskel again, just to prove he was still with him, well and alive. Here. In Lettenhove. To take a rest, to get to know his other family. To become better and be with him. It took quite a bit of restraint to not lean down and kiss those scraped lips swollen. But Geralt knew he wouldn’t be able to stop, if he started now and he needed Eskel to rest. To heal. So a squeeze to the shoulder had to suffice until they had the time, and strength, and the privacy they needed. A day. Maybe two. Witcher healing was a wonderous thing.

Behind him Geralt closed the door softly and followed Amara to the room next door. It was the infirmary, at the moment empty of another except for them. Julian’s and Eliza’s scent clung to the room and it calmed his nerves. Floral and soothing it was a smell not yet defined, as was common for such young children. They had to grow into their own scent as much as they had to grow into their own body and life.

Hand at the handle Geralt failed to close this door completely, as well, when angry ice-blue eyes met his. His fingers slipped from it, bracing himself when Amara stepped towards him. She gripped his shirt, pulled him forward and snarled. More out of shock Geralt followed the pull.

“What the fuck?” he asked, eyebrow shooting up. His hands darted for Amara’s shoulders, trying to sooth with his touch. The healer trembled under him.

“He is starving, Geralt!” Amara hissed, her voice sharp. Something inside him froze. “I could feel his ribs. Every single one of it.” Her voice had become louder with every word. Closing his eyes, he took a breath and tightened his grasp on her shoulder. Shit.

“His cheeks gaunt. The potion took e-”

“Stop.” He had to interrupt her. Every word felt like a slap, like a physical blow but that wasn’t it. He opened his eyelids again. “He can hear you.” Witcher senses could be a blessing and a curse. He hoped Eskel was still asleep. In front of him Amara’s eyes widened and she hissed under her breath. Then she murmured something and Geralt’s medallion vibrated around his neck.

“Soundproof. The room,” Amara explained with short, precise words. “Now I can shout as much as I want and I want! I will!” Her eyes blazed. “What the fuck, Geralt? By Melitele, why does your friend show signs of starvation?”

He took another deep breath and exhaled through his nose. He could smell Amara’s distress, could see her anger on every line of her face. Her eyes were cold, for the first time since he had gotten to know her they resembled the coldness of the ice-colour they looked. All of Eskel. For his- His brother. He deserved it, Eskel deserved all of this but it was a conversation Geralt knew would be hard. Inside him something cracked because of course, of course Eskel had played things down. Of course his ever faithful brother, friend - lover? - had tried to not worry him. Of course.

Sometimes Geralt hated to be a witcher with all his might. For himself and all his brothers who suffered under the life the path could take.

“Sit down.”

“What?” Amara snapped and Geralt had to grip the frustration that bubbled in his chest, to not let it reign in.

“Please, Amara. Sit,” he said again, as gently as possible. Thankfully she did, letting go of his shirt and gingerly took a chair out from under the table at the side. She sat but she was tense. Geralt could see it in the rigidness of her spine. She truly was a healer, a person who hated to see others suffer. Because she cared so fiercely and Geralt loved her for it.

He took another breath. Flowery scent. Julian and Eliza. He let it calm him. “He’s a witcher.”

A snarl - an actual snarl. He hadn’t thought Amara could make such a sound - interrupted him. In an instant she stood, hands balled to fists. “You’re a witcher and you never arrived here, half-death from lack of food.”

For a moment Geralt could only stare in wonder, then he laughed. It was a short, bitter sound and all he could do to not scream. Maybe he should. The room was soundproof after all.

“Because I was lucky, Amara and not because it never happened to me, too.” Under the weight of the words, Amara sunk back onto the stool. Her adam’s apple bobbed. “We’re witchers, monster. People outside this town only barely tolerate my kind, if not hate us outright.”

“You’re no monster,” murmured Amara under her breath. It sounded weak and full of tears she wasn’t shedding. But it didn’t stop Geralt. His voice wasn’t harsh but not soft either. He had known this not to be an easy conversation. Nothing in this world would make it easier.

“We walk the continent, to kill monsters for coin. We vow to not take anything else and never in advance, to give people the chance to pay another, if we fail. We risk our lives to protect, and receive ungratefulness, distrust and hate, because we’re different and it doesn’t matter anyway, because witchers don’t feel, right?”

His voice lost some of the edge when a tear spilled and rolled down Amara’s cheek. He hated this. It shook him, his whole body, with the force of self-hatred and disgust, but he pushed himself to carry on. To make Amara understand.

“You asked what possibly could make a witcher starve? A hunt. Let's say a wraith. Easy enough. But it got lucky and got your shoulder, your leg, your chest. Not vital, but painful. It leaves not much, no bones, no skull to show as proof. You pick up what looks like dust and try to show it to collect your coin. You get accused of not having finished your job, even though you have a bleeding limp as proof, next to the remains that are nothing more than dirt you could pick up from the ground. You leave without coin and a bleeding shoulder. Your bags aren’t full but they aren’t empty, so you know you can go another week, find another contract. You hunt in the wilderness, catch a hare, clean your wound and it’s okay. It were the last bandages you had, but you ate and the next town is a two days ride away. You can manage.

You can manage until the next town, where they promise some coin to kill a ghoul. You dealt with ghouls before. No problem. You down a potion - Cat - to fight in the pitch black night and try to not care it’s your last. It’s not one ghoul, or two. It’s three, or four or more and it doesn’t help that your shoulder is still injured. You have witcher healing, but no salve to speed it up. You get injured again, but you have some healing potion left. When you killed the last ghoul you limp back to your pack and down Swallow or Kiss and realize it was your last one, too. You’re hungry, but you’re too exhausted to hunt and all you can do is sleep. So you sleep until the next morning. When you get back to the village, this time with proof, you realize the people believed you were dead, because you can see them stare. Stare more than usually. You ask for your coin and get a dagger in the side and a hiss to get out. You leave, too exhausted to fight.

You’re out of potions, out of supplies. No bandages, no food. You wonder if it’s worth it to rip your old shirt apart to wrap yourself up, but you don’t. You’re filthy, injured and it’s one of the two remaining ones you have. Better safe it for a later date. When you really need it. This night you don’t even bother to set up camp or light a fire. You find one last bit of dried jerky in your bags and you’re glad. When you fall asleep you hope no bandits or wolfs will rip you apart in the night. But on the other side, you don’t really care. It’s not like you could defend yourself right now.

It’s another three days to the next town. You’re hungry, injured and you hope the next contract is easy enough to do without potions. Some farmers find you. Tell you about people gone missing near the river. They tell you they have no coin but beg you to help them. You do. Because maybe, maybe they will reward you with some food, a night in the haystack even. They didn’t promise anything, and still you go. You go and try… you try and one day you get out of it alive, maybe get food. Maybe it gets better after that. Another day, you probably won’t...”

Voice fading away, he can’t continue his speech. Memories haunt him, of brothers he had lost to exactly such a fate. There is no need to continue. He is just glad today he hadn’t lost Eskel. What would he do, if he had? He forces himself to not think about it.

He looks up, gets out of his own head and sees Amara sobbing silently where she sits. Tears stream down her face, one hand over her mouth. Guilt seeps into his chest as her tears seep into her clothes. He hadn’t wanted to force that knowledge onto her, had never wanted her to know what it meant to be a witcher, at least not so intimately. But he did and there was no way to take the words back. It felt exhausting. He wasn’t the type to talk so much, yet the words had fallen out of his mouth like stones.

“Amara,” he whispered, voice hoarse and he took a step. Behind him something squeaked and he snapped around. Emerald eyes bore into him, a hand tight around the door frame. Undisguised anger flashed over Alfred’s face. Alfred, who Geralt hadn’t recognized was here and who clearly had heard his story. Alfred, who was kindness and gentleness, who was soft and calm, a bit chaotic, sunshine incarnated. Alfred who looked like he wanted to punch someone, punch and punch until bones cracked under his fist and blood spilled. A spike of fear pushed all of Geralt’s other emotions aside.

“Who?” Alfred pressed out through gritted teeth. “Who didn’t pay him?”

It wasn’t hard to understand what he meant but something hindered Geralt from speaking. Something blocked his airway and it felt like drowning. Suffocating.

“Who, Geralt?  _ Who?!  _ His injury was fresh enough that it can’t be far. My people, someone under my -” He choked on his own words. Anger blazed inside his eyes. Geralt had never seen Alfred so furious. It finally pushed him into action.

“I don’t know, Alfred. He said two villages over. But he also said he hadn’t eaten for two days, only, and it takes more for a witcher to reach that level of starvation.”

The door frame creaked. White knuckles showed under golden skin.

“Fuck,” Alfred spat. Then again. “Fuck!” Behind him Amara still smelled of salty tears.

“Alfred, it’s not your f-” Geralt tried to stop the onslaught of guilt he knew mixed with anger, but couldn’t. He was interrupted by a fist that crashed against the wood of the frame, booming despite it being not quite that loud. Their eyes met, golden and emerald green and then Alfred turned and stormed away. Every other word died on Geralt’s lips and even if he had managed to call them after his friend, it wouldn’t have helped because the room was still soundproof. It didn’t matter. No sound escaped him. Only Amara’s quiet sobbing rung in his ears.

* * *

When Julia entered the room, Geralt had sent Amara to bed as well, telling her to sleep of the exhaustion of healing Eskel. While he had known it wasn’t the only exhaustion she felt, both of them didn’t need the reminder. Amara had went, while Geralt had stayed. Sunken to the floor, he stopped his thoughts from running wild by concentrating on the smell. It were footsteps that pulled him out of his meditating state. He didn’t open his eyes but he didn’t need to. Rosemary and lavender. A flowery scent he couldn’t identify. A bit of rose, of thyme, of sunflowers. Undefined. But still Eliza. Julia probably carried her in her arms.

He didn’t open his eyes. He felt exhausted, burned out. He was worried for Eskel, for Alfred, Amara. Things would be okay, he knew that but he couldn’t bring his mind to believe it yet.

More footsteps sounded, then a body settled next to him and pulled him close. Rosemary and lavender. Lavender and rosemary. He settled against the shoulder. Not as broad as his. Not as strong. But steady. Comforting.

They sat. He inhaled. Lavender and rosemary. Flowers. Exhaled. Soft breaths next to him. Body heat. Reassurance. They sat. He was glad Julia didn’t speak. She didn’t, for a long while. Until everything inside him calmed. Things would be okay. She was silent, until she spoke.

“Julian’s in the kitchen with Illona. He missed you.” His heart constricted but this time in a good way. He heard everything she didn’t say. How his child surprise would always give him comfort and calmness. How Julian’s laugh could make him light up. How right now, it was who he needed. Julian and Eskel and the knowledge that things would be okay.

When he finally opened his eyes Julia smiled at him, Eliza asleep in her arm. “I’m glad you’re back, Geralt.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek, stood and made his way to the kitchen.

* * *

It smelled of roasted meat, potatoes, probably pie and something sweet even before he entered the kitchen. It just intensified when the door opened under his soft push. Fuck, but he was hungry. His gaze darted to Illona who stirred a pot. The movement made her head turn and she lit up when she saw him. The wooden spoon clattered against the pot and she had him in a hug in a moment. A moment later, someone tugged at the fabric of his trousers and a very familiar voice called out, “Geralt.”

Releasing Illona, Geralt swept up Julian, who had grown a considerable bit and had finally, for the first time, pronounced Geralt’s name correctly. At least it was the first time Geralt heard it pronounced correctly. Pride filled him as he pressed his child surprise close. Tiny arms slung around his neck and squeezed. Only then, when Julian let go of the hug, did Geralt place his child surprise comfortably onto his arms. Something inside him settled.

“Hello Buttercup. You’ve become quite a big boy. One day you will be taller than me, I can tell. Do you want to tell me what you’re doing here with Illona in the kitchen?”

“I missed you,” Julian said with all ernest he could muster and snuggled a little closer, before he started, “I helped Illa cook. Look, Geralt.” He pointed down at the floor where bits and pieces of dough were spread, as well as some cutters. Huh?

Next to him Illona started to laugh and brushed over Julian’s hair. “And very well so, didn’t you?” Her head turned to Geralt, who looked at her curiously. “It’s salt dough, inedible but great for children to play with.”

“I see,” Geralt hummed and then heard his stomach rumble. “Do you have something that we can actually eat for me and my friend?”

Parting from him Illona hummed, her eyes crinkling. “I heard you brought company, and made quite an entrance. I figured that none thought to get some food down into you. Nothing ever gets solved well over an empty stomach.”

With a grin Geralt accepted the plate of cheese, bread and apple slices Illona offered him. But not before he shifted Julian to one arm, holding him more steadily. “Can’t argue with that.” Then he focused back on Julian who tugged at his white hair. “Do you want to meet my friend, Eskel, Julian?”

“Mmh, yes,” he answered but sounded a little unsure. Geralt smiled at him. Just having the boy in his arms helped calm him so much. It made him happy.

“He’s very nice and great at telling stories. But he’s a little injured, so you have to be careful with him. Can you do that?”

Julian looked at him with big, round eyes and then nodded. His unsure expression made way for a tentative smile. “When I was out some… some days ago I fell down. It hurt and bleed, but Mommy picked me up and blow. Then she put some icky thing on it. Kissed it better. We can kiss it better?” It all came out in a rush, some words tumbled and mumbled but Geralt understood Julian perfectly. He nodded very seriously.

“I think that is a very good idea. Let’s go, so we can kiss Eskel better very quickly.” In his arms Julian squealed, delighted, and waved at Illona, who laughed.

“Bye, Illa.”

Behind him he heard Illona blow them a kiss. “Bye my dear. Take good care of Geralt’s friend and make sure they eat all that’s on the plate.”

Geralt’s stomach rumbled with silent laughter, knowing fully well her words hadn’t been for Julian, but yet met their destined goal, still. Suddenly it wasn’t so hard anymore to believe things would be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> while the last chapter had been very hard, this one had been incredibly easy  
> I have no idea how accurate Julian's behavior is. He's close to three, but it's still ... Jaskier, so well. He's good with words, I guess? :D
> 
> I love to hear from you on tumblr (arzani-fuchsia) or in the reviews and I love you all.


	16. not the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not the world that Geralt wants. All he wants is right here.

While Eskel’s eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, Geralt could hear by his breathing that his brother wasn’t. Balancing Julian on one arm and the platter of food in the other hand, he precariously sat on the edge of the bed. It was at that movement that Eskel cracked one eye open. Amber glimmered warmly, met gold under a half lifted lid.

“You brought food,” Eskel murmured. It made Geralt grunt, amused, while Julian giggled. He shifted in Geralt’s hold and was released, once Geralt deemed it safe for the boy. In a moment he was on top of Eskel’s chest.

“I did, but remember that Vesemir said to not eat humans.”

At that Eskel finally opened both his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. The lines around his mouth contorted into a pained expression for just a moment, but before Geralt could say or do anything about it, they shifted into a grin. For now, Geralt would let it slide.

“Did the famous Geralt of Rivia just crack a joke? Heavens, who are you again and what did you do to my brother?”

That made Geralt snort. He carefully placed the plate of food in Eskel’s lap before he reached for Julian, who had crawled dangerously close to Eskel’s injured leg. Not that the boy could know that, with the blanket covering Eskel from hip down. With a swift movement he lifted Julian back into his lap. An amused laughter escaped the boy as he was lifted into the air.

“Geralt! Noo. Kiss it better.”

“We kiss it better, after we introduce ourselves, little flower,” Geralt murmured and then added. “Eskel, meet Julian -”

“Your child surprise,” Eskel finished for him. His brother’s scent spiked, pleasantly surprised. Geralt nodded.

“My child surprise.”

On his lap, Julian turned his face away from Eskel and so much attention, but quickly sneaked a look out from Geralt’s stomach towards the newcomer. He blinked, tilted his head and then threw a quick wave. “Hello.”

In return Eskel smiled, murmuring, suddenly quite shy himself - and wasn’t that odd to see a witcher intimidated by a mere child. But maybe, Geralt guessed, it was because of who this particular child was. Geralt was acutely aware how fondly he had spoken of Julian and the rest of the Lettenhove household the last time he had met Eskel. This was after all Eskel’s first proper introduction since they had arrived here. A lot had happened in that short amount of time. By Melitele how much had happened in merely a few hours, it was almost unbelievable.

“Hello Julian, I’m Eskel. A friend of Geralt.”

Focused on the exchange, on Julian’s curious eyes and scent, Geralt nearly missed when Eskel’s smile faltered, as if he remembered himself. With a hand Eskel reached for the scarred side of his face and it nearly broke Geralt’s heart to realize what his brother must be thinking. He was sure his brother was flooded with memories of too many women reaching for their children, taking them away - small boys and girls afraid of his face because of the stories they have been told. Sadness exploded inside of him, cracked something up -

that was mended when Julian blubbered, hand outstretched for Eskel’s, reaching for it.

“You’re pretty.”

Something on Eskel’s face fell. Something inside Eskel’s soul probably did, too. A wall that had been up for too long. It was almost comical how he opened and closed his mouth, without saying anything. His amber eyes became moist, his hand fell back down and then reached for the outstretched one offered towards him. A tiny hand patted the palm of a much bigger one, in a strange sort of a game of clapping. In his lap Julian laughed. It was a carefree sound and warmed Geralt’s heart. What warmed him even more was seeing in Eskel’s face how he fell in love. Irreversibly, wholeheartedly, thoroughly. Julian’s charm was encompassing and had worked it’s magic. They smelled of sweet flowers and mountain dew on forest trees. Geralt took a deep breath, encompassing it all and tucking the memory away in his heart.

“You’re pretty beautiful yourself, Julian,” Eskel managed to say but his voice wavered quite obviously.

“Geralt said you hurt. We came to kiss it better.”

“Yes, Uncle Eskel,” Geralt said in a teasing tone and something glinted in Eskel’s eyes at the epithet. He took the platter of food to put it on the ground, to keep it from falling over. “Let us kiss it better.” While Julian made his way back onto the bed from which Geralt had pulled him from earlier, Eskel just blinked. He understood, though, with Geralt pointing at the blanket covering him. Pulling the piece of fabric aside, Eskel guided Julian towards his leg. His hands almost encompassed the boy’s waist, keeping guard should he fall over, yet not touching him. A steady guard, to protect. But Julian didn’t fall. Instead he flopped down next to Eskel’s injured leg, eying the badage. Amara had cut off the bloodied leg of the trousers and it seemed Eskel hadn’t gotten to change yet. Well, the trousers had been ruined anyway.

For a moment all Julian did was eye the white bandages, then he tentatively patted them. When he realized that Eskel was fine with it and not in pain, he started stroking it lightly and - for a not even three year old - very carefully. Julian straightened to look into Eskel’s face and then he bend down and placed a small peck on the white linen. When he was sitting back up again, he grinned triumphantly.

“All better now.”

Amused, Geralt took in Eskel’s astonished face. He had always loved his brother, but in this moment it felt like everything was right in the world. Some piece fell into place, some long lost puzzle piece Geralt hadn’t even realized was missing. But he knew he was complete, like this.

“Not quite,” he murmured, only for Eskel to hear and shocked his brother again, when he reached for Eskel’s chin, tilted his face towards him and kissed him fully on the lips. Warmth washed over him, love and affection and a sense of being home. When they parted he murmured softly against scraped lips, “but now.” Then he reached for the food again and prominently placed it in Eskel’s lap.

“You should eat.”

* * *

A knock at the door announced their visitor and when Geralt called them in, Julia peaked her head inside the room. A smile graced her lips when she eyed them. Julian sat at the end of the bed, trying to solve a puzzle Geralt had gotten him after the boy had crawled up and down Eskel’s body, jumping from the bed into Geralt’s arms and back and forth and giggling like there wasn’t anything better in the world. Well, for a boy at Julian’s age there probably wasn’t. While his child surprise concentrated on the wooden pieces, Geralt and Eskel had talked about their latest hunts and how their year had fared so far. It was easy talk, smooth voices filling the air and warming Geralt’s heart.

Now, however, they became silent, heads moving to look at Julia. She stepped inside, eyes blue and warm, smile never faltering.

“Supper’s almost ready and I wanted to ask if you’re up for it?” Her gaze shifted towards Eskel. Geralt knew, his brother would be excused, due to his injury, if he wanted to, but Geralt also knew Eskel wouldn’t stay in bed.

“Very much, Ma’am,” Eskel answered and his words made Julia laugh a delighted laugher. With swift steps she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, outstretching her hand.

“You have so much better manners than Geralt has,” she grinned and then added. “Julia. Nice to meet you Eskel. No need to call me madam.”

While Eskel took the hand and shook it, Geralt snorted. “Says the woman who challenged a witcher after finding out he claimed her child.” He had been polite, back then. He was pretty sure he had been. The teasing and good-hearted mocking came very much later. Hell, he had been contracted by a noble, who actually had acted decent. Geralt was sure he had behaved.

With a little jump Julia was back on her feet, grinning broadly and pressed a kiss on Geralt’s cheek. Her tone was mocking. “And I was right, wasn’t i?”

“Unfortunately,” Geralt grunted but he knew himself there was no malice in his voice. He loved everything claiming the Law of Surprise had brought with it and he loved Julian. More than he would ever be able to put into words. There was no denying it. He didn’t want to, did never want to deny his child.

“You can’t fool no one Geralt. Come on, Julian dear, time to wash our hands…”

Julian’s concentration was broken by his mother’s words, the puzzle forgotten on the bed. Holding up his hands, fingers outstretched, he said very earnestly. “No, look, all clean.”

Crouching down, Julia put herself on eye-level with her son and with a very earnest voice answered. “They’re clean when you used soap and water, sweetheart. All the invisible germs don’t like soap, but love food and we won’t want them to make you sick. So we always clean our hands before eating. That’s very important.”

For a moment all Julian did was blink, then his body shifted and turned around to look at Geralt. He asked, “Do Geralt and Esk’l need to wash their hands, too?”

It made Geralt chuckle and he pushed himself into a standing position. Outstretching his hands, like Julian had, he looked at them, very earnestly himself and then nodded. “Yes, we will. Time to wash hands, little flower. Your mother is right.”

Eyes bore into his back from the bed and Geralt was sure Eskel’s expression must be one of astonishment and amusement alike. Had Eskel ever seen him like this? Probably not. But he couldn’t fault him. Geralt himself hadn’t known of this side of his until he had fallen headfirst into the Pankratz family. With a grin he reached for Eskel’s bag und pulled out a clean - and very important not ripped - trousers. He threw the piece of fabric into Eskel’s face.

“Eskel however should change before he washes his hands.”

Julia, who had lifted Julian into her arms by now, chuckled and trailed Eskel’s body - or what was seen from where he still sat, covered by the blanket - very obviously with her eyes. The curve of her mouth was devilish.

“Oh, but only if you must. He’s quite the sight. Isn’t he?”

“Pretty.” Julian squealed, laughing and beaming, while Julia carried him outside. “Pretty Esk’l.”

Geralt was sure that Eskel was very glad right now that witchers couldn’t blush.

* * *

When Geralt made it to the dining room he found Amara sitting in one of the stools around the big family table. Alone. He could hear through the walls Illona speaking and guessed that both Diana and Dave were inside the kitchen. But his senses couldn’t make out Alfred. His eyebrow rose.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked Amara who lifted her head when she heard him enter. She still looked exhausted but better than earlier the day, after he had told her about what probably had happened to Eskel. Geralt hadn’t asked, but he really didn’t need to. The sorceress even had changed clothes, now wearing a comfortable looking green dress with a golden belt.

“Let's say I tried to sleep,” was her answer. It didn’t really ease Geralt’s worry and he walked towards her. When he was next to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to spent warmth. She leaned into the touch and sighed. “I feel twenty years older.”

He hummed. He really didn’t know what to say. He guessed that was what really aged people. Not the years on your back, but the experiences you make. Putting the burden of his life, the life of the path, on his family’s shoulders wasn’t something he ever wanted to do. But he couldn’t change the world. All he could change - if even - was an opinion.

“You know,” he mused after quite some moments of silence passed. He didn’t wait for Amara’s reaction, just pressed on. His fingers found themselves tugging at a stray lock. “you aren’t really allowed to complain about age before you don’t have white hair.”

Next to him Amara snorted incredulously. “Oh shut up, witcher.” But her shoulders sagged and the tension left her. He had some days to talk properly with her, again. He would. He wanted to sooth her worries… and maybe she could give some helpful tips on how to better care for wounds. It would ease her worries, Geralt knew. Maybe she and Eskel could bond over chaos. They would find a way to soothe and ease their minds. They always did. Right now, however something else bothered Geralt. Something way too pressing.

“Where’s Alfred?” he asked, missing his friend’s absence of scent, of sound. His constant humming was missing and the silence rung in his ears. It was too quiet. It didn’t feel right.

“Mucking out the stables very angrily,” Amara answered and Geralt snorted. That man.

“I’ll get him.” He had to save his friend from his own mind and guilt.

* * *

Hay and horse and - there it was. Geralt took a deep breath when he smelled the familiar scent of dandelions and buttercup. His ears picked up on heavy breaths, caused by physical exertion, and the shifting of dry hay. It didn’t take much searching to find Alfred. He worked on an empty box in the low light that feel through the windows. The sun was slowly sinking in the west.

For a while Geralt only watched. Alfred’s arms flexed with every other time of shifting hay. Dust filled the air. His heart was heavy at the absence of sound other than heavy breaths. It didn’t suit his friend. Not at all.

“You know, whenever I find myself in a truly dreadful situation these days -” Alfred tensed, but didn’t turn. Only his back faced Geralt and that wasn’t good. After a moment of shock he kept on working. So Geralt kept on speaking. “- when I’m wounded and wait for a potion to work or need to lay low to coax out a monster which sometimes takes hours - in all these dark moments that are part of a witcher’s life, I remember your singing. Your voice fills my head and suddenly the pain isn’t that painful anymore and the hours pass by easily.”

It was true. These last few years had been much easier, because he knew he had a place to come back to. He had people to come back to. Even though he knew he had that in Kaer Morhen as well, this place - Lettenhove - was different. It didn’t bear the painful memories of his childhood, or the loss of too many dead brothers. Here things were light. Here people sang.

If Kaer Morhen was his childhood home, this was where he wanted to grow old.

Instead of answering Alfred kept on working, without turning. It was obvious in the rigid line of his back that he was still angry. Still upset. With what Geralt could only guess. It hurt to see his friend, a man that meant so much to him, like this.

“Alfred.” Geralt’s voice was low and full of worry. Fuck those who said witchers didn’t have emotions. What a fucking lie. He knew better by now.

The pitchfork Alfred had been working with fell to the ground, muffled by the hay on the floor. Hands balled to fists, they shivered under the pressure. “I hate what people - humans - do to you and Eskel. To all the witchers out there. So many people are safe because of you. This town, the surrounding villages. When you freed us from the kikimora some four years ago you didn’t only safe me, but all the travelers that pass the main street. They are my subjects and they should be grateful to who keeps them safe.”

Alfred’s voice shook and Geralt knew what he meant, but he also knew the world he lived in. He smiled a tiny smile, despite himself. “I’m sure they are very grateful of having you as their lord.”

At the words Alfred whirled around and tears clung to his eyelashes. His forehead shimmered with sweat, his shirt showed wet patches. He had worked himself ragged.

“I mean you, you idiot,” he shouted, almost choked. Without thinking Geralt stepped closer, wanting to ease the anger that simmered inside his friend. Wanted to smooth out those lines on Alfred’s face.

“Lettenhove had always treated me kindly,” Geralt answered and Alfred snorted.

“Two villages over, Geralt. That’s what you said where Eskel had fought. Protected. It’s not enough and even if. It’s still not enough, because my jurisdiction is so small.”

“Oh Alfred, you can’t change the world,” Geralt murmured and Alfred’s eyes gleamed in the low light of the stables. His upper lip was quivering when he murmured defiantly. “But I want to.” It broke Geralt’s heart to see the hurt and worry underneath all the anger. It broke his heart and mended it at the same time, to know someone cared so much. Not only for him but for all his brothers as well.

Without thinking about it he pulled Alfred into a hug and buried his nose into his friend’s neck. Scents of buttercup and dandelions spiked with salt like being at the ocean filled his nostrils and it was soothing. It was soothing to feel strong muscles ripple through cotton linen, when Alfred returned the hug, and it was like rain on a fire, when wet tears fell, soaked by Geralt’s own dark shirt.

“I don’t need the world. All I need is my family and you’re all here.” They were. Almost. Not Lambert and Vesemir and the few of the wolf school that remained. But it was enough to know they would be always welcome here. In a few weeks Geralt would see them again. But they were not who he was talking about. Not even Eskel, because Eskel was a witcher and knew. He knew about the path and the scorn and the hatred of the world. Had experienced it himself. Was injured right now because of it. But Alfred...

For a human - a lord especially. Pampered by birth status, with the luxury of money and noble blood - it was easy to fall into the prejudices of the continent. It would be easy to see a witcher as a monstrous monster-slayer, not better than the creatures they killed. But Alfred didn’t think that. Never had, never would. Geralt knew. He simply knew - had learned about Alfred’s good heart first-hand. Him, a witcher and a lone wolf, had found himself a pack with the Pankratz family. A pack that invited him and all his brothers along.

No. He didn’t need the world. He didn’t care about the world’s opinions of him. Only about his family’s and they loved him. Alfred and Julia and Amara, Illona, Dave and Diana - Eliza and most of all Julian. They all loved him and that was truly enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait. Life took over and the world is so crazy right now. I sometimes just wanted to hide my head under the blanket and wake up when things are better. But we're the ones who need to make it better because who else will (other than Jaskier with writing glorious songs?).
> 
> Also, remember, if sweet three year old Julian can wash his hands, I'm sure you can, too ;-)
> 
> I love you all and I hope you're still with me and this story. Thank you for all your support <3


	17. family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eskel gets adopted... in a way.
> 
> This chapter is pure fluff.

Dinner was late and the pies hadn’t been hot anymore. Lanterns and candles spent light, while the sun had sunken outside the four safe walls of the Pankratz’ estate. But nothing of it mattered when he was surrounded by everyone he loved. Eskel, dressed in whole trousers and looking much better than he had in the morning, Alfred, freshly bathed and Amara with a smile on her face, while the red-rimmed eyes had faded. Things were good, life was good and Geralt promised himself to enjoy those few days he had with his family, before they would leave for Kaer Morhen.

“So you grew up together?” Alfred asked, curious. His anger had dissipated, not forgotten surely, but placed aside for the moment. Geralt knew him that well, at least. He was sure the topic would come up again. Eskel’s injury and his treatment back in the village where he had not been paid. Alfred was, after all, a viscount and he cared about his people. He also cared about justice. It would come up again, but not during dinner.

“We did,” Eskel confirmed and by now his body was as relaxed as it could be in a new environment and between mostly strangers. His shoulders were loose and his back leaned comfortably against the chair. Well, they wouldn't be strangers any longer, Geralt knew. The Pankratz family just had that charm.

“Lived in each other’s pants basically. Got into a lot of trouble, too. The trainers hated us.”

Geralt snorted at that. His eyebrow rose and he tilted his head a little. “Hated me, you mean. Not their golden boy.” A grin spread onto his face. Next to him Julia looked very amused.

“So I was right, when I said Eskel has better manners,” she quipped and it made the whole table chuckle.

“Obviously,” Geralt confirmed but saw that Eskel wanted to protest. It drowned in the laughter of the group. When it abated, it was Dave whose next question rung into the room. His torso was leaned into the table, curiosity written all over him.

“So, who of you is stronger?”

“Eskel,” he answered without thinking. They’d often trained with each other and if Geralt had counted correctly Eskel had some handful of wins over him. At exactly the same time as he had spoken, Eskel announced “Geralt” with a suritey that astonished him. Wait what?

Dave looked between them, head flinging back and forth comically. “That’s helpful,” Amara pointed out, cheekily.

“Geralt, you’re most likely the strongest witcher on this continent. What the fuck?” Eskel protested. It made Geralt blink.

“You beated me in training several times. No one can stop you and your signs.”

Amara sat a little straighter at that, her eyes glinting and her gaze looking Eskel up and down. Oh, there was recognition in her.

“What are signs?” Diana quipped, but the witchers ignored her for now.

“Yes and what is a witcher that relies solely on their signs?” Eskel asked and Geralt knew what he meant, because he heard Vesemir’s voice inside his head.  _ A witcher that relies solely on his signs is a dead witcher. _ That didn’t mean that Eskel wasn’t different than the rest of them. No one channelled chaos like his brother did. It wasn’t a thought he dared to speak out loud. Not here. “You are definitely stronger than me and there are reasons for it. Geralt!”

Eskel’s voice had turned sharp for just a second, his gaze fixed on him, wandering to his white hair. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to drive the point home. A point Geralt did his best to forget entirely. He hated everything that had come with undergoing the trials twice. It was a miracle that he was still alive. An abomination. Against nature… he shut that particular trail of thought down.

Thankfully Diana and her stubbornness helped in achieving that. Again, she asked, “What are signs, Geralt?” while she stared at him pointedly. Oh, she had learned well from Julia. The tension vanished, when Geralt sighed and then smiled. Just a little.

“I think Eskel’s better equipped to explain that.”

“You’re just lazy,” Eskel answered but dutifully turned to Diana, and started explaining how witchers could control just a little of the chaos around them, with the help of hand movements. Exhaling, Geralt leaned back and was met with Alfred’s gaze, knowing and intent. Oh well, that would be another conversation he probably couldn’t avoid. They could place it right after the one about Eskel’s injury.

* * *

“I’ll put the stitches out and I know you and your witcher healing abilities are exceptional. But!” And Amara made a pause to emphasize her point. The finger pointed at Eskel’s chest did its part too. As did her blazing eyes. “If you strain yourself or put too much pressure on your leg, I will gut you. Understood?”

Helpless, pleading eyes looked at him that made Geralt chuckle. He knew how frightening Amara could be, even though she would never go through with her threats.

“She won’t,” he assured, which made Amara snort. One of her eyebrows rose.

“Oh, I will.”

Well, to be honest Geralt had never given Amara a reason to go through with her threats, either, so…

“Maybe she will,” Geralt admitted and grinned when Eskel whimpered. The witcher ducked his head and nodded.

“I will not strain my leg and behave,” Eskel answered dutifully, defeated. With a sigh he lowered himself on the bed, pushed himself towards the headboard and stretched out his leg. Without further ado, Amara rolled his pants leg up and cut off the bandages. They fell off his leg and she prodded here and there. Eskel didn’t even as much as breathe loudly, just flinched once. If Amara had noticed she didn’t give it away. But the healer she was, Geralt doubted it had escaped her.

“Another two more days I guess and you’re as good as new. At least if you keep up this healing rate. If the wound still bothers you after that time, tell me.” He blue eyes focused on Eskel and after a moment Eskel nodded. “Good.”

Geralt watched how Amara pulled a small, sharp looking knife out of her bag, unsheathed it to cut out the stitches. Her hand was sure and he had to admit he was glad someone as competent as Amara had treated his dearest brother. Two days had passed since they had arrived, in which Eskel had healed, gotten acquainted with the Pankratz’ family and rested. It was a marvel to see him brighten up under honest words and kind smiles. It warmed his heart to know Eskel had a safe place here, to become better… and obviously to return to. Even if he didn’t know that yet. But Geralt did. He knew it in his heart.

“Now, all done.” Amara said, when the last bit of thread was out of Eskel’s leg. She murmured something under her breath that made Geralt’s and Eskel’s medaillons vibrate. Huh? Her knife glowed for just a moment, then she sheathed it again. “I’ll leave you two to whatever you were doing.”

“Does that mean I shouldn’t come in?” sounded from the door and Geralt laughed. He had smelled Alfred before he had seen him but hadn’t wanted to interrupted Amara in her concentration. Alfred’s green eyes flitted from Geralt to Eskel and to Geralt’s surprise it was his brother who answered.

“No, come in, please.” Flexing his leg for a moment, Eskel tested the new feeling of not having to have stitches in his skin. The he made to unroll his pants’ leg. Geralt himself, who had stood aside, settled himself on the bed - well his bed, but for now his and Eskel’s bed. Not that anyone really complained. Alfred entered and as he approached he reached for a stool, turning it so it faced them.

“I’m glad you’re better,” Alfred spoke, his tone easy but there was something in his expression that made Geralt realize where he wanted this conversation to go. Eskel answered by emitting a small humming sound. It left Alfred grinning.

“Is that non-verbal grunting a witcher thing?” he teased and Eskel opened his mouth to answer but it fell shut, when Geralt snorted. Something inside him fluttered and maybe, maybe this conversation wouldn’t be so bad.

“He learned from the best.”

“Oh no. I just spent too much time around your brooding self.”

Grinning, Alfred seemed to glow under their banter, emitting radiant sunshine and light. He was happy and his happiness made Geralt happy in return. It damped a little, though, when Alfred’s tone got more serious.

“Eskel, can I ask you something?”

Instinctively Geralt reach for Eskel’s hand. Their fingers slotted together and Geralt squeezed when he felt the tension in them. He didn’t let go, even when Alfred’s gaze brushed over their joined hands. Something softened in the lines of his face.

“I won’t mind if you don’t answer me,” Alfred added. It seemed to soothe something in Eskel, because he nodded.

“Go ahead.”

“Your leg injury… Geralt told me you got it two villages over.” Alfred said, stating facts instead of asking a question. But Eskel nodded, still. “He also mentioned you didn’t get paid.” Eskel flinched. Geralt felt the need to squeeze his brother’s hand again, hating that not getting paid was probably the least problem he had faced in that village. Alfred sighed. “I take that as yes.”

Eskel simply hummed. Again. He had closed his eyes and Geralt knew the sentiment. It made things easier, to not see what feelings - pity - crossed someone’s face. Hearing words was enough. But Alfred didn’t emitted pity, he suppressed anger. At least he suppressed frustration.

“I’m a viscount. You know that. I know Geralt had told you. Those people are my responsibility and therefore what happened to you was partly my fault as well. I apologize.” Geralt could see how Eskel’s eyes flew open, looking shocked. Honestly, Geralt felt similar. Alfred’s posture and genuine smile were sincere. “If you tell me what village we’re talking about I will assure that what happened to you will not happen to any other witcher ever again. But, you don’t have to. However, I would very much like to compensate you. Would you be so kind as to tell me how much you’re owned?”

Alfred’s words rung in the silence of the room. Not even the sheets made a noise because neither Geralt nor Eskel did move. They had perfected the art of becoming one with their surroundings. But at this moment it was because of two different reasons. While Geralt didn’t dare to breath, to not miss Eskel’s reaction, the other witcher likely was overwhelmed. After a while Alfred was the one to break the tension. He stood.

“You can take your time answering,” he said.

“No.” Eskel’s voice was raspy but very clear. His cat-like eyes, a little darker than Geralt’s seemed wide, but sure. His stance was. But he still held Geralt’s hand, holding on to the anchor it represented. Geralt willingly provided the stability. Alfred sunk back down on his stool.

“No need.” Eskel rubbed a hand over his face, wiping hair out of his eyes. The rasp in his voice had vanished. “You provided me - us - with shelter and food and cared for my injuries. There is nothing you owe me. Family doesn’t owe each other. This... “ and he made a gesture that encompassed them all, Geralt and Alfred, the estate, this past few days. Geralt’s heart filled with warmth and he felt like bursting. “...is enough. But I gladly tell you I took the contract in Upper Ledding, because if you can prevent another witcher from receiving hatred and scorn, I willingly help.”

Geralt watched how Alfred’s shoulders sacked a little, saw how he released his blue doublet he had balled his fits in to leave wrinkles and flexed his long fingers. He watched with amazement how Alfred nodded and stood, a small smile becoming bigger and brighter. He still held Eskel’s hand, holding, holding on, when Alfred pushed into Eskel’s space and he watched how Eskel, who wasn’t used to humans showing affection towards him, let the other man. He watched Alfred pull Eskel into a tight embrace and murmur “I’m glad you’re here, Eskel.” into his ears. He watched, as his chest expanded with happiness and his heart melted in joy, and when he closed his eyes he smelled dandelions and buttercups, wide crisp mountain air and love. So much love.

* * *

His mind was mostly occupied by Julian. The boy sat in front of him, playing with wooden animal figurines, babbling and laughing happily. Geralt played along, told stories of wolves in the woods and witchers and horses, about monsters who were not so scary at all, because his child was only three - not yet but soon - and the last thing he wanted to give Julian was nightmares. He knew exactly how it felt, as a child, to be told that monsters could rip you apart or devour you whole. So what came out of his mouth were sweet little… not lies, but stories, altered here and there for his child’s sake, of his easier hunts. Elves and fae and witches, that seemed suitable for a child. All along moving a wooden horse around on the fur, that looked very much like Roach. Well with a broad imagination at least. It didn’t matter, because Julian was so happy and that was all that Geralt needed.

So, his mind was mostly focused on Julian and his hands moved and he spoke, directing his child’s thoughts here and there, but another part of his mind - a smaller one, mind you but still big enough that he noticed - was on Eskel.

Eskel, his brother in arms, his companion, close friend and so dear to his heart, sat in one of the many cushioned chairs of the sitting room. His legs were sprawled, his back leaned into the backrest and his eyes - amber, curious and fixed on him, Geralt knew - seemed to glow. He barely breathed and moved even less. Oh, he was beautiful. Soft, relaxed and adorable. A word Geralt used very rarely and usually not on witchers.

Witchers weren’t adorable. They were strong, efficient. They were maybe elegant, flexible yes of course. A force of nature, powerful and more than men. But never adorable. This word uttered to the wrong witcher could end in a serious fight. Geralt almost flinched when he thought of, for example, Letho being called adorable. Oh no, no, no, wrong trail of thought. But Eskel…

Eskel had always held a special place in his heart and now, with his loose clothing, red and black and enticing, his hair in slight disarray and his eyes so soft. Not to mention that holding a sleeping child in his arms did wonders. Eskel was adorable, in the way he held Eliza, how he made sure the girl wouldn’t wake and cradled her like the most precious creature he had ever laid eyes upon. It stirred something in Geralt. Something low and deep in his belly. A need, a want, he hadn’t indulged in for a long time. But it was more than a base desire. It was warmth in his belly, and a steady heartbeat and adoration.

He knew very little of love, but maybe this was it. Geralt very much hoped it was. His lips quirked into a smile.

“Quit staring at me, wolf,” Eskel growled lowly, but there wasn’t much heat in it.

“But you’re such a lovely picture,” Geralt teased and then was drawn back to Julian who had stood up. He was surprisingly fast in procuring another carved animal from a box. With a smile he accepted the toy from his child. Another horse.

“And who’s that, little flower?” he asked and Julian tutted as if it was a stupid question.

“Esk’ls. To protect him.”

For a moment Geralt was stunned silent, then he smiled warmly at Julian and pressed the toy back into Julian’s hand. “You should give it to him, then.” His smart boy just did as he was told, standing up and walking over. With big round eyes, blue as the sky on a clear day, he held the wooden horse up. Geralt watched how Eskel took it out of small fingers, very carefully.

“For you,” Julian said and Eskel managed a “Thank you” that sounded very breathless. Geralt wondered if hearts could actually melt, because he was sure his did, right now.

“It’s name is Scorp-, Scopion,” Julian felt the need to add and Eskel repeated the name. “Scorpion, huh? Very well, I will keep Scorpion very close and very safe, so he can keep me safe in return. Does that sound good?”

Julian nodded and ran back to Geralt with a big grin on his face. Geralt caught the boy, but his gaze was still on Eskel, who looked very stunned, but happy and soft. As soft as a witcher usually never looked. Adorable. Warm. Love.

He wanted to kiss it into Eskel’s skin, this feeling in his chest. Wanted to draw it into him with his fingers, his mouth. Wanted to show how much it meant to him, to have his brother - lover - close. Maybe he should drop a hint at supper, that the haystack would be occupied tonight. He feared his own room’s walls were too thin and if anything, he really loved when Eskel was loud. Surely the horses wouldn’t mind.

* * *

Days passed, like only good days do and soon it was time to go. Geralt felt it in his bones. The wind had become a little chillier, the clouds turned dark more often and the people huddled together, to prepare for the winter. Eskel and him had to go, to make it safely to Kaer Morhen.

“Do you really not want a horse,” Alfred asked over supper. They sat together, eating. Illona had outdone herself, procuring a feast for them. A departing gift, until the next time they would show up. The table was laden with meat and pies, vegetables, a very creamy spread, freshly baked bread, potatoes and tulips, and ale for those who were old enough to drink it.

Eskel shook his head, but he was smiling. “No, I really don’t want a horse. But thank you.”

It wasn’t the first time the topic had come up. For the Pankratz’ not riding felt like not being able to breath. Even Julian, with his barely three years, had sat on a pony already and they couldn’t comprehend how Eskel didn’t want a horse for his travels. After all, they knew how far a witcher got around on the path. But Eskel still felt like he had no hand for horses, and in a way Geralt knew that giving Eskel a horse, now, wouldn’t do them good. But he had secretly decided for himself that he would teach his brother how to ride over the winter. Snowdrop was patient after all.

With a sigh Alfred gave in. “Alright, but if you ever change your mind…”

Eskel chuckled, and nodded. “Then I’ll come here and let you pick one for me, because I have absolutely no idea what to look for in a horse.”

The whole table exploded in laughter. The ruckus stirred Eliza, who had been sleeping nearby in a cradle. Her wails disrupted the cheerful sounds and Julia stood to pick up her daughter. Geralt watched her make soothing noises, but the girl just kept on crying. Her mother sighed, rocking her. The motion calmed the girl down slightly, but only enough for her to stretch out her arms and wiggle. With a grin Geralt realized who Eliza wanted to hold her. It seemed Eskel did to, because his eyes became a little wider.

“Eskel, would you mind?” Julia asked, half amused, half mock-indignantly. His brother found his composure and shook his head. He held out his hands and when Julia settled Eliza into the waiting arms, the child calmed completely. At his right, Alfred chuckled.

“You know, Eskel, now that Eliza adopted you, I think you have to visit more often.”

Geralt’s heart beat a little faster. His stomach fluttered when Eskel’s mouth tugged into an indulgent smile.

“Haven’t I been adopted already?”

“Yes, you have,” Julia added seriously. “Which means visits, at least once a year. Birthday presents for the kids, dagger lessons for Dave” At that Dave made a surprised but joyful sound. “and no dying on the path.”

For a moment Eskel was quiet, needing to find his words. Then however Geralt saw him light up, shoulders getting loose. His gaze darted over to Julia, then his eyes found Eliza, happily and contendly sitting in his lap.

“I guess,” he murmured, smiling, “I can manage that. I will try.”

Geralt knew, that was a lot for a witcher. To try and stay alive. It wasn’t something said lightly in their line of work. But here they had found a reason to stay alive. A place to come back. People who wanted and needed them safe. Slinging an arm around Eskel’s shoulder, Geralt brushed a kiss against his cheek.

“We’ll keep each other safe.”

That, Geralt, swore to himself, was a promise.

* * *

They rode out the next morning. The sky was still dark, turning from black to blue. Fog was in the air, hanging between the houses of Lettenhove. It obscured the meadows and fields, that made way to forest until it dissipated when the sun had found their way above the hills. By then Eskel and him were already far away from their second home. He could see in his brother’s face a deep longing for the easiness that had been living with the Pankratz family. Drawing him in, Geralt kissed Eskel, until the sadness faded.

“We’ll be back,” he murmured against dry lips. With foreheads pressed together, Geralt could smell and see and feel how Eskel believed in his words. He smiled, pressed another quick peck on Eskel’s lips and then asked, mischief in his eyes, “Do you want to ride Snowdrop?”

Eskel only growled but to Geralt’s surprise put a foot in the stirrup. 

“Don’t you dare let me fall.”

He wouldn’t. Never. Not Eskel. Geralt knew he would hold his brother close forever.

That night Eskel found a pouch of gold coins in his bag and when he showed Geralt, all Geralt could do was laugh. Laugh and laugh and laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and the encouragement.  
> Also I found a post on tumblr that said, tell your readers it's okay to draw fanart of your story and write remixes and do collages and and and.  
> So if you want to feel free to do so. Send me a link, tag me, whatever. If you want to, go ahead :)
> 
> Lots of love, stay healthy. <3

**Author's Note:**

> I played with the fact earlier in the days the daughters often got their mother's and the sons often got their father's names. So Jaskier's middle name is his father's name, and his son's name by tradition would have Julian as a middle name.


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